Sapphires & Emeralds
by TaylorGibbs
Summary: An undercover assignment leads to an entanglement for NCIS. Will Abby get trapped in a web of lies? Who IS that blue-eyed stranger who sets her on fire with his touch? Gabby Pairing. AU. written with Zabby. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Title:Sapphires & Emeralds

Author: Fox and Ink (this is a writing partnership between Taylor Gibbs and Zabby)

Fandom:NCIS

Category:AU

Pairing:Gibbs/Abby, eventually McGee/Ziva

Rating:FRT for now

Spoilers:Hiatus.

Summary: An undercover assignment leads to an entanglement for NCIS. Will Abby get trapped in a web of lies? Who IS that blue-eyed stranger who sets her on fire with his touch?

Feedback: Any way you want to send it :)

Author Note: Thanks to Anna for the beta.

Story Note: This is a completely AU story. Gibbs is not with , Mike Franks is the team leader. Abby spent some time as a special agent before realizing she wasn't cut out to be an agent. Many of the rest of canon events happened. McGee was recruited to the team, Kate died, Ziva is a part of NCIS, though the current director is Morrow, not Jenny or Vance. Other important canon items will be filled out as needed.

Since this is AU, Gibbs is not quite the same Gibbs you see on your screen every week. He isn't all THAT different either...appearances CAN be deceiving :)

Chapter One

Jet Brooks looked around the room and nodded at a few of the women in their designer evening gowns. He should be used to this mating dance now, but anticipation thrummed through him at the thrill of the chase. He should be getting too old for this but he was strangely excited by it all.

With his silver hair, charming smile and well-above-average looks, he knew he made an impression. He may have fit right in with this crowd but he knew how different he was. Their clothes by top designers, their jewelry worth tens of thousands. They had no idea there was an impostor in their midst, his clothes the only genuine thing about him. The name was much less real than the Rolex on his wrist, an identity to be used and discarded when it was no longer convenient. Or when people got too close for comfort.

Jet was an expert in keeping people far away. It was the only way he was successful at his job. And he was_ very _successful at what he did.

He leaned against the wall, watching the crowd, scanning for the perfect mark. These pre-dinner mixers gave him the best opportunity to study and observe the groupings, to decide who to approach and charm. Their necks, wrists, and fingers glittered and sparkled with precious stones and expensive metals and each one caught his eyes for a nanosecond before he continued onward. He'd know the mark when he saw her. And it would be a her. Men were too suspicious, too hard to get close to. Though he was damned good at getting close to people. At least in this role.

Jet moved through the crowd with ease, flirting with one matron, nodding to another. His identity was flawless and many of the socialites had embraced him from the moment they met him eighteen months ago. None of them would ever suspect a traitor was in their midst, someone who would charm the jewels right off them and never feel a moment of regret.

He crossed the marble floor, glancing up at the chandelier that sent prisms of light over the expanse. On a nearby serving table, there was a glass of higher-end champagne, more than he could ever afford, with his name on it.

As he worked his way around groups of people, he saw her. His mark. And she took his breath away.

Black hair swept up with tendrils tumbling down. Creamy skin. Tall, statuesque. The black, sparkly, halter dress dipped down very low in front displaying an emerald and diamond necklace that took his breath away. At least he told himself it was the necklace and not the woman. Her green eyes fastened on his and he knew he was in deep trouble.

_Keep your mind on the job, Jet._

His body ignored the warning, turning to hers as he lifted two glasses of champagne off a platter. "Evening."

Gingerly, her right hand ghosted along the opposite side of her neck, where her spider web tattoo used to be. She felt almost naked without it, exposed. Still surprised the removal left no visible scars, Abby moved her hand to the necklace she wore, realizing how nervous playing along her neck made her look.

Scanning the crowd as she fiddled with the jewelry that cost more than her yearly paycheck from NCIS, Abby had to wonder at the brilliance of the director's plan. And Mike Franks' decision to go with it. It had been years since she'd been out in the field, having decided she was much better off in her safe, clean lab, without the daily threat of bullets bouncing around her.

But now, here she was, undercover and acting as bait for a Naval Commander. How she was the perfect bait, she still didn't believe. No matter how much Tony teased her about her looks, or Franks said it was her duty.

Sure, she was young, single, and the perfect mark to help move the Commander's drugs. And with her cover – a recently widowed Marine wife – she would seem to be an easy target. Easy? Ha, not with the stun gun in her bag, thanks to Ziva.

And here she was, in the middle of money, power, influence, and she was supposed to figure out exactly which one of the dozen plus Commanders in the room was the one shuffling drugs. _Yeah, okay, _she thought caustically, _I fit right in_. She was going to get Tony for suggesting her.

_Take a deep breath, Sciuto, and remember that young Marine who overdosed on bad drugs. _There had been something wrong with the drugs; something added that sent the poor boy into convulsions. That something was still being run through her babies when she'd been coerced into going undercover.

Suddenly, a shiver went up her spine as she felt eyes on her. Turning her head slightly, her green eyes met the extraordinary blue ones staring intently at her. Stunned into silence, it took a jolt of her heart restarting for Abby to come back to her senses.

_Silver hair, blue eyes._ Those were her only thoughts until she realized with a drop in her stomach that this was probably her contact; either the man himself, or someone who would take her to him.

Trying to adopt an attitude she in no way felt, Abby lifted an eyebrow and returned his greeting, "Good evening."

A whisky-soaked voice that went right to his groin brushed over his ears and he mentally stumbled a bit, hoping his interest didn't show on his face. "Champagne?" he asked, knowing the wet bar would make anything they wanted, no matter how high end. Up close she was even more attractive, and he sensed something lively—even spunky—in the way she smiled.

He glanced down at her hands where a matching ring adorned the finger of her right, a few bracelets hugging the wrists. But no wedding or engagement ring and no sign that there had been one. Oh, she was perfect. Her date—and there had to be one—seemed to be leaving her at a distance, which suited him just fine. He couldn't help but want to get his hands on that delicate throat and the jewels that rested there.

"Haven't seen you at one of these before. Pet charity?" he asked, slowly sipping his champagne. "You here for the event or the show?"

Taking the tall, sparkling flute from the man, Abby had to repress the shivers that ran through her body at the mere sound of his voice. This was a man used to giving orders and not having them questioned. This was an Alpha male.

"Thank you," she replied. "No, I've never been to one of these before. I'm here as a favor, as a filler for someone who needed a date. I don't get out much lately, so I don't really know these people." Looking around for that said date – she'd get McGee in the morning for abandoning her – Abby realized she was alone, stood up.

"But I guess he's found more interesting activities," she quirked, turning her attention back to the man in black, his gaze direct and soul stealing.

He had the look of a military man; great posture, high and tight haircut, stern look, piercing blue eyes. _Stop it, Sciuto_, she admonished herself. It would do her no good to get completely snared by this man. He could very well be the one inundating parties like this one with drugs.

But something in her gut rebelled at the thought of the man before her as a drug dealer. Something didn't feel right, felt almost like she was betraying the man he was. _Ridiculous_, she thought. _Just because someone has striking blue eyes, a voice that made her insides melt, and a throat she'd love to sink her teeth into…Stop it! Just because the man is attractive, doesn't make him any less innocent._

"Husband? Boyfriend? Or just a friend?" He was there alone, a completely single man on the prowl for more than jewelry. If the opportunity arose, anyway. And this woman intrigued him more than any had in a long time. Too damned long. But his job on the fringes didn't allow for more than a fling every so often. He had a few broken marriages to show for that.

He eyed her as he sipped his champagne. She was clearly looking for someone, her eyes canvassing the room before focusing back on him, the pupils dilating slightly then contracting as if she forced herself to not react to something.

"If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. Put him out of your mind for now and focus on me." It was a slight order delivered with a thread of command. He wanted to see how she'd react.

Deciding to up the stakes slightly, he leaned in, making sure his breath flowed over the exposed flesh of her collarbone. His hand found the necklace, fingers stroking over the stones slowly only to trickle down the exposed front of her dress into her cleavage before stroking once all the way up her breastbone to the hollow of her throat.

"Beautiful," he whispered, moving deeper into her personal space. "What should I call you?"

"Just a friend," she answered, before remembering she was supposed to be a widow as part of her cover. Darkening her eyes slightly in a remembered pain, she looked to the right slightly before turning back to him.

If there had been any doubts as to the possible rank of this man, it left with his order. He was clearly used to having his word followed, without argument. Reminded her of Franks in a way.

Raising an eyebrow, she took another drink from her champagne, the bubbles starting to go to her head a bit. "You seem like a man who is used to having his way, no questions asked. Or is just with random women you meet at events like this?"

Her eyes closed in shocked pleasure as his breath and fingers ghosted across her skin. For a moment, she forgot where she was, forgot who she was. All she knew was the heat radiating off the man. The hand holding the champagne flute fell to her side, the glass resting against her thigh.

Breaths coming in quick bursts, her chest heaving slightly in anticipation, she answered, "Abby. You can call me Abby."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Abby," he whispered her name, a verbal caress. He'd learned early in life that his voice was a powerful tool. Just as he'd injected command into his words, he now used seduction to soften his tone. "Abby," he repeated drawing her name out. "You can call me Jet." It was much preferable to his given name, which was so old-fashioned that it tended to be remembered.

"What are you looking for tonight, Abby?" he asked, his hand reaching for the glass, the back of his hand brushing her thigh. "Because we could go some place a little quieter." With less harsh lighting. "And talk…"

At that, he gave her a look full of sexual promise, using his looks as just another weapon in his arsenal. He was used to getting what he wanted and right now he wanted her with a passion that burned his blood and blotted out everything including the job he was here to do.

He finished his champagne and then hers, placing them on the side table and then reached for her hand. "What do you have to lose?" _Except a couple million in emeralds and diamonds._

_What do you have to lose?_ His voice, his remembered words, echoed through her head as she followed him, his hand clasped firmly over hers. _My dignity, my job…you._ She thought though she kept her mouth shut.

Passing through a sea of black tuxes and jeweled dresses, she wondered where he, where Jet was taking her. Even knowing someone would notice her absence, even knowing that the team would burst in and take him into custody, thinking she had found her mark, she followed him.

The choice had been made long before that question, before his hand seared her leg where he touched, before his fingers set her body quivering. From the moment the sapphire of his eyes slammed into the emerald of hers, she knew where they would end up. The question was now, how far would they get before NCIS burst in on them?

He led her down a corridor and into an alcove, looking down at her. "I want your emeralds," he whispered, lowering his head to hers. "And your rubies. And diamonds." Her eyes sparkled and a tremor ran through her. He could scent her arousal in the air, feel her body quivering as he pinned her to the wall easily with his body, his hand going to the back of her neck where he knew the release on the necklace was.

His mouth brushed hers with a gentle touch then deepened immediately as she responded. He pinned her there, groaning his need into her mouth, pinning her between the wall and his muscular body.

His words were lost in a fog of desire as his hard body pressed against hers. She was in way over her head, as her blood changed to liquid fire. For goodness sake, she wasn't Ziva who'd done this plenty of times, well undercover anyway. She was an ex-agent now, a forensic scientist who spent her days, and often nights, pouring over and discovering what was hidden in the evidence.

Soon, even her own words were lost in her misaligned thoughts as his lips met hers, her body arching up to feel more of his ridged muscles. Rubbing her leg along the outside of his thigh, she decided to live a little until his words finally penetrated her clouded mind.

Gasping for air, she asked confused, "My rubies? I don't have any…" And then reality drained the fire from her blood. He was after her jewels, not her. He made her melt against him, and all he wanted was the borrowed stones around her neck. He might not even be her mark, be the drug runner.

"Rubies," she said again. As his lips moved against her skin, she started digging in her clutch for Ziva's gift. Abby felt his hand on her neck, felt where his fingers were playing around. With disappointment and her body screaming "no"' she took out her stun gun.

"I'm sorry," she said an instant before she zapped him.

"Those ruby lips," he whispered against her skin. He had a moment of confusion when she said she didn't even know his name, his senses tingling as he strained down for a weapon. Had he made a mistake? Was she not the mark after all?

Then something jolted through him and he didn't even have time to curse before the world went black.

Tony DiNozzo was pissed off. He'd lost sight of Abby when some sixty something matron had groped his ass. If he didn't locate her soon, Franks was gonna have his. Mike and Ziva were in a van, taking pictures of everyone who'd walked in. The silver-haired guy chatting with Abbs hadn't even been on their radar but Tony had gotten a shot of him that Mike would have someone run through facial recognition.

With McGeek and Abby inside, that'd have to wait. They were pushing resources as it was and Director Morrow wasn't a big fan of Franks anyway. He would never authorize a part-time tech for this op.

"Probie, you see her?" Tony asked urgently. Yeah, Ziva had loaned Abbs her stun gun, but she'd refused to be micced, saying she'd feel uncomfortable.

Tony's Spidey sense told him that they'd disappeared down a corridor just past the main reception area, and he signaled Tim with one hand, putting a finger to his lips and resting his hand lightly at the holster on his side. He was ready for anything. Mike had been a damned good teacher.

"No, Tony. I lost visual after the crowd surged and separated us." Pulling out his Sig, Tim covered Tony's back, taking a quick glance down the hall. He hated doing this in his rental tux; he just knew something was going to happen and he'd have to pay for the darn thing. "Clear," he whispered, waiting for the SIC's signal.

Tony heard a dull thump and that was all he needed. "NCIS!" he called out, leading and sweeping with his gun. He and Tim entered a small alcove where a guy was crumpled on the ground, Abby standing over him.

"You okay, Abbs?" Tony asked, knowing McGee had the guy covered in case he awoke quickly. Tony patted him down, pulling out two ceramic knives, one from an ankle holster and another from the belt. Yeah, Mike would be pleased with their thoroughness.

"Boss, Abby stunned someone," Tony said into his wrist mic. "She seems okay. Stay out there and we'll bring her out. Abbs? What happened? What did this bastard do to you?" He listened to what Franks said about keeping the op intact and then clicked off.

Tony cuffed the guy, nudging him with a foot. "We'll take him out soon as he regains consciousness. What happened?"

"He didn't…I mean, I thought he was the mark, I thought he was the guy…he approached me…nothing happened." _At least nothing I'm gonna share with the team_, she thought. Her body started trembling and she dropped the stun gun. Picking it up, she shoved it into her bag. "Is this the guy, Tony?"

"Don't know, Abbs, but he's armed." He had the military look about him, silver hair cut short, but the suit was way too expensive. And yet he was armed with ceramic military-grade knives, not cheap ones either. What was he doing with knives if he didn't have something illegal going on? Tony checked the pockets and didn't find any drugs but that didn't mean a lot. He probably didn't carry them on his body, not here anyway.

He flipped the wallet open, checking out a Virginia license and business card. "Jet Brooks. Consultant." There was an address in Arlington that Mike or Tim would run as soon as they got Abby someplace safe and this guy in custody.

"Jet," she whispered. It fit him somehow, despite his silver hair. Black clothes, black attitude, and probably black temper when he woke up.

She watched as Tim cleared the tiny space. He came up to her and asked, "You sure you're okay, Abby? You seem shaken up. Did he hurt you?"

"No, Tim. He didn't touch me." _Liar._ "He just…I'm confused. I thought he was the mark. He fits the description. But then he started going for my necklace, talking about diamonds and emeralds," _and rubies._

"I need some air. Tell Franks and Ziva I'm coming out."

~*~

"Ziva, keep your ears open," Mike Franks saw Abby come hurrying out of the building and got out of the van, grabbing her wrist. "Settle down, little lady. What happened to ya?" Mike looked her over carefully but she seemed fine. Never did have the stomach for the field though. She was perfect for this operation and he would be damned sure he'd put her back in the field if he had to.

"What happened? You get our guy?" He brushed her hair back, feeling all kinds of paternal about her. She and Ziva and Tony and Tim were like the kids he never had. If some bastard had hurt her, he was gonna learn about the wrath of Mike Franks. And soon.

Even though she tried to brush past him, Franks' grip was iron. She wasn't going to be able to hide and work this out on her own. She'd have to face her boss first.

Struggling against his grip, she said, "I don't know, Mike. He…he fits the description, the behavior, even how he picked me up. But…I don't know. When we left the floor, he seemed more intent on my necklace," _and my skin…my lips_, "then on getting me to sell drugs for him. It never came up. The drugs. He never mentioned them. I just don't know, Mike. Can you let go now please?"

"Shook you up," Mike remarked, his anger rising. "He touch you, Abby? He get fresh with you? Tell me what happened." Mike led Abby to the van and put her into the passenger seat, closing the privacy door between the seats and the back so that Ziva wouldn't hear.

"He attack you, Abby. Just lemme know." If he laid a paw on Abby, his ass was toast far as Mike was concerned. He was too old and cynical to be polite and he'd never been a gentleman. He wasn't above some rough justice, fists or brass knuckles if need be. Nobody was gonna hurt his girl. "Tell me about this dirtbag, Abby. So's I know how bad I have to kick his ass when the boys bring him out."

And when she told him that then he'd debrief her. And he'd let her sit in on his interrogation. It wouldn't be pretty. Mike was looking forward to nailing this dirtbag to the wall.

As he settled her in the van, Abby closed her eyes for a brief second to get her bearings. When she heard him get in with her, she joked, "Did you really just ask me if the guy got 'fresh' with me? Mike, I don't think people have been using that expression since the last millennium. Are you trying to bring it back?"

Even though she knew she was deflecting, she couldn't stop the babbling. She didn't want to talk about what had happened with the man in black, with Jet. She wasn't sure she could, though her job would require it.

"Of course the op shook me up. You know I don't do well in the field. I'm rarely out in it anymore. I did my best, but I don't know if that's the guy, Mike. What if I screwed up? Did anyone notice? Will I have to go back in again?"

Sighing, she leaned back against the seat and told him what had happened, the parts she wanted him to know. "He approached me, gave me some champagne, complimented me. He was very…arrogant in his demeanor." Looking up at him, she teased, "Reminded me of you in that way.

"He said he wanted to find a quiet place to…talk. I stunned him when I thought he was making a move for the necklace. I thought maybe, if this was the guy, he was going to use it for money to fund his operation. If it wasn't the guy, he was probably a jewel thief. So, I stunned him," _and watched him fall to the ground, even as my body burned._

"Don't question my language, girlie. I'm old enough to be your father." And she knew it. He was guilty about sending Abby in, but Ziva had been to the last two events and had not even been approached. Despite her exotic looks, her demeanor hadn't allowed men to feel comfortable starting conversations with her. None of the other attractive female agents were available for this one, so he'd made the difficult decision to choose Abby. And he'd use her again if he had to.

"Just because you may be old enough to be my father, Mike, doesn't mean you are. Even he doesn't use words like 'fresh.' And I'm not questioning your language, only your use of it," she teased. The teasing helped. It helped to take her mind off the man who was currently being escorted outside. Who was she kidding? Nothing could take her mind off of him. "What's going to happen now?"

She shouldn't have left him back there, with only Tim and Tony. Not when she had gone running from the room. They were probably going to get the wrong idea. _What if they hurt him?_ Why was she acting that way? She'd only just met the man, and it was still possible that this was the person they were after, the one pushing drugs to the high-ranking military families.

"Don't forget who is boss, girlie!" Mike shot the words back with a wink, stroking a hand over her neck, fingering the necklace. He and Abby had always had a comfortable relationship and it was clear that she needed a distraction. "What's gonna happen now? The boys will bring him here. And I get to interrogate." Mike's voice dropped to a growl then. He loved interrogation as much as Morrow hated him doing interrogations.

"You get any evidence, Abbv? Anything you can process? Want you there for the interrogation but you never have to see him again." This had shaken Abby up bad.

Mike hugged her close. "Never have to set eyes on the slimy dirtbag again after tonight."

"If there is any evidence, it would be on this necklace or on him. Other than that, we have the pictures of all the people who came into the party for facial recognition, and then prints from him. I'm sorry, Mike. I guess I didn't do what I had to. Probably even got the wrong guy," she replied, trying, for some reason unknown to her to downplay Jet's part in it.

She had almost smiled when Mike teased her. But when he said he wanted her in interrogation, her heart dropped into her stomach. _What is he gonna do when he sees me? _Her mind scrambled at the thought of their next encounter, a poor, passionless meeting in comparison to their first.

"He got his hands on the necklace?" And Mike hadn't used gloves and the boys hadn't bagged this evidence. "Well, hell, Abby. You know proper evidence procedures. You shouldn't be still wearing that." He sighed. "We have any chance of getting evidence off it now?" If he was the drug dealer, Mike knew fingerprints from the suspect himself would be a much stronger option.

"Sorry, Mike," she said, ruefully. "I guess I just wasn't thinking of evidence procedures at the time. The guys didn't touch it, and I really didn't give them time to ask and bag it. You're the only one, other than him, to touch it. If he's our perp, there could be trace evidence on the jewels. Do you have an evidence bag?"

"You stunned him, didn't ya?" Mike asked, suspecting what had happened from the look in her eyes. "You felt danger. Even if he is the wrong guy, he ain't citizen of the year." Something about this op was starting to feel very wrong and he breathed a silent sigh of relief that Abby seemed okay. Shaken up, but unhurt.

_Danger?_ she asked herself. _The only danger was to my security, my self, my body. Gawd, what he was doing to my body…Stop! The danger was there. It had to be. He was invading._ Invading? A strange way to think about it, but it was the best she could come up with. He had been invading, not just her body, but her mind, her skin, her…She really had to stop before she drove herself insane. But she could still feel him, feel his touch against her skin, his breath stirring her hair, his lips pressed so firmly against hers that they were still swollen from them.

"Yeah, I stunned him, Mike. But now I'm doubting myself. But am I doubting my actions because of how witnesses behave where things seem to change the farther away, the farther in time, you get? Or is it because I really do believe that this is the wrong guy? I'm just…" She didn't know what she was, but she had to stop talking.

He gave her a fond but concerned smile. She was a wreck, rambling even more than normal. "You're confused, Abby. But we'll get your head on again. Remember, we have someone to question. We're done for tonight, Abby. And he might be our guy. If not…" Mike remembered reading something about a jewel thief ring operating on the east coast. "Might be able to get one over on that smug bastard, Fornell. There's been something going around about jewel thieves. You said he went for your necklace?" The one that was around her throat? Like she had another one? He made a move to head slap himself, something Tom Morrow had done to him when he was a probie agent who needed to focus and something he did to his boys but never the girls.

"Did he hurt you?" Mike knew the words came out as a growl, showing his protectiveness over Abby. "Did he lay his hands on your throat or chest." Mike took a closer look, realizing her lipstick was slightly smeared. "Did he kiss you, Abby? Did he try to seduce you?"

Mike would kill him. No doubt about it, he'd lay that dirtbag out in the back of the van and show him some old-fashioned justice, Franks and NCIS style.

Abby knew her pale skin flushed a more crimson shade when he asked if Jet had kissed her, had tried to seduce her. "Did he hurt me? No, he didn't have the chance."

_Did he lay his hands on me? Just a moment, just a caress. Did he kiss me? Oh yeah, not long enough. Did he try to seduce me? I would assume so from the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way he…_she had to stop herself. Otherwise, she was going to jump out of the front and hop into the back. But she'd just end up embarrassing herself.

She was coloring deeper and darker now and something very dark reared up in Mike. "Gonna kick his ass for hurting you, Abby." He knew she knew he had to give him the details eventually, but he wouldn't push it for now. He knew she'd reached her limits.

"No, Mike, you don't have to…he didn't hurt me, I swear," but it seemed like he wasn't going to listen to her tonight. She sighed as she tried to calm her body's responses to the evening's events. Her mind was in a constant state of flux, from being wired in her undercover assignment to Jet and being…she stopped her train of thought there. She'd save that for when she was home, alone.

"Never seen ya like this before, Abby," Mike said with an unhappy grunt. "Know being an agent wasn't right for ya, but ya never seemed wound this tight. Looks like you're trying to jump out of your skin." He'd seen her uncomfortable before and it wasn't like this. This went well beyond her normal energy or nervousness and he needed to know why. The urge to push and interrogate was almost overwhelming but he held himself back for now. But only barely. Abby was the daughter he never had, just like Tony and Tim were the sons he'd always wanted. And Ziva, new addition to the team added last year, was growing on him as well.

"Honestly, Mike, I've never felt like this before. I have never felt so unsure before, so not like myself. I don't know what went wrong." She looked out the windshield, trying to figure out why she was coming out of her skin…and it really did feel that way. Her body felt like it was ready to explode, her skin vibrating so hard she wondered how the whole van didn't shake.

Was it because of the investigation, since she hadn't been a field agent in so long that she'd amped herself from the nerves? Or was it because of him? The man in black, the one who froze her like a deer in headlights from one glance, who hypnotized her by just saying "evening." From the moment he had approached her, all she could do was watch, feel, breathe. Whose touch she craved even now, whose breath she was almost desperate to feel against her skin. His heat that seared her skin, a counterpoint to the coolness of the jewels on her neck.

This guy went wrong. Mike knew it. This guy was responsible for Abby's upset. There was some sort of…hinky? Wasn't that the word Abby used? Chemistry here and it was affecting her in all sorts of ways. She had a connection with the dirtbag and it wasn't the first one she'd been attracted to.

Her skin was flushing dark now, her pulse speeding up. It aroused very protective bone in Mike's body. "Stand down, Abby," he said, his tone soft but gruff. "You're safe now and you're back to being Abby Sciuto. Take time and reclaim your own skin, girlie. It'll be okay. He's just a dirtbag. Plenty of 'em where he came from."

"Yes, Boss," she said, trying to tease him. But instead of coming out her cheerful way, it sounded almost deadened, a lack of the life she normally put out. "And we always do catch the dirtbags, right Mike? Most of the time anyhow. Do we ever put any away who were innocent? Aren't you ever worried about that?"

Looking down at the beautiful dress she and Ziva had picked out for her undercover op, Abby smoothed down the shiny material. She didn't know if she'd ever wear it again, but for a moment she had actually enjoyed her part. Shaking her head, she just didn't know if she could do it again, if she could risk an encounter like that again. But she was pretty sure there'd never be someone like him coming up to her, someone like him setting her on fire.

Oh, she had it bad. Mike sighed and shook his head slowly. "We have you, Abby. You get the results. We have evidence not just gut feelings. Ain't perfect but what is?" Mike had a lot more to say but he wouldn't do it in the van. Later on back at the Navy Yard, he'd sit her down and give her a real strict talking to. She shoulda known better than to get emotionally attached to a suspect. But this was a strange situation and his Abby had always been different to the other agents. Even when she was an agent, she was different from his men—and women. Softer. More vulnerable. Able to be hurt more easily.

Unable to stop himself, he lifted the necklace, flicking the interior light on and examining her neck. Her skin was flushed a dark pink but he couldn't see any signs of injury or even marks on her flesh.

She held perfectly still while he examined her, unnecessarily afraid that he would find some mark, some evidence of what had happened between her and their suspect. Intellectually, she knew no sign existed; there hadn't been time. But emotionally, their time together, relatively short to only a few moments, had left a deep impression on her.

Shrugging out of his NCIS jacket, Mike wrapped it around her shoulders, giving her a gentle hug. "Got some Caf Pow for ya here, Abby. You want?"

Pulling his coat tightly around her, she accepted the warmth gratefully, not realizing until that moment how cold she really was. As the left over heat penetrated through her consciousness, she finally heard what he said. Reaching out her hands, she exclaimed, "Yes, please! Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

When she said that, her eyes lighting up and a smile gracing her face, Mike knew that she'd be okay. It might take time, but his Abby would be back.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Tim watched a bit helplessly as Abby practically ran from the room. Looking down at the man at their feet, he asked Tony, "What now?"

The guy was stirring and Tony nudged him with the tip of a foot. "Get up." He motioned to Tim to hold his weapon at the ready as the guy stirred while Tony drifted into the corridor in case the guy had backup. Abbs should have been covering it, but she'd disappeared, heading for the sanctuary she'd find with Mike and Ziva. He didn't blame her, had told Mike this was a bad idea.

Jet opened his eyes slowly, tugging on his arms and realizing they were caught behind his back, His concern started rising and he had to squelch the thread of panic starting to rise up.. How had she discovered who he was? Or was it someone else, did someone else grab the mark, the gorgeous woman? He was in a whole hell of a lot of trouble here. He watched as one man with a gun went into the hallway while the other had his trained on him.

"What do you want? We can work out a deal. Information or goods and services. Where is the girl?" Had they hurt or even killed her? "She's nothing to you. Let her go. I don't even know her. I'm the one you want."

Tim's eyes hardened at the almost possessive way the man on the floor talked about Abby. Raising his arm a little higher, holding his arm a little stiffer, he said, "The girl," he began, emphasizing the word "girl," "is none of your concern, dirtbag. You have bigger things to worry about."

"Tony? Are we clear? Can we move out?"

"Clear," Tony replied, coming back into the room. "What'd he say about Abbs?" Tony grabbed the guy and hauled him to his feet. "Here's the story. You drank too much, we're helping you to your car. You scream or let our secret out, we kill you. Tim, the knives."

Pulling out an evidence bag from his pocket, Tim deposited the weapons and sealed it. He'd sign it when they got outside. "He wanted to know where Abbs was, tried to sound all concerned about her welfare. Even offered himself for her. Real sweet," Tim added sarcastically.

"Real damn sweet. But he had his hands all over her. He's got her lipstick on his mouth, Tim." Abby was like their joint sister and nobody messed with her. The fact that this scumbag did meant he was toast. "Our boss is gonna love tearing you limb from limb, buddy. You're gonna wish you never locked eyes with Abby when we're done with you."

"He…he touched her?" Tim growled out. He was rarely ever aggressive, preferred to leave that kind of behavior to Franks and Tony. Too many Alpha males in the pack tended to muck up the process of an investigation. But with Abby? Abby was someone special. Abby was someone good, sparkling, despite her normal Goth appearance. Abby was beautiful, in her soul and her face. Abby was…Abby was _Abby_.

"Who gave you the right to touch Abby?" he ground out through his gritted teeth, the barrel of his gun shoved into the man's stomach. He knew Tony would help him, wouldn't let this scum complain about his treatment, for Abby they would do whatever it took.

"Kissed her at least," Tony growled, getting pissed that the guy wasn't flinching. He was supposed to be uneasy, not standing his ground like this, head held high even though Tim has his weapon jammed into his stomach.

The bulldogs were kind of charming…in a dangerous gun-toting way. They were obviously trying to protect her, which meant instead of her being screwed, he was. Unless they knew her casually and had taken her prisoner first.

Jet was still a bit fuzzy but he realized he had been taken out face to face and not from behind. She must have hit him with a stun gun. His respect and admiration for her growing, he smirked. Whatever had happened, she was one hell of a kisser and he'd hold onto that, even if she was part of Ravenlocks and the two armed bears. The baby-faced one was interested in her, and he wanted to provoke him. The other guy was streetwise enough to keep the younger one from shooting. He recognized law enforcement in the harder one's eyes. He'd sure as hell crossed paths with enough law enforcement officers before and the fallen ones were the meanest. This guy probably washed out after a few years or was paid off to drift onto the other side of the law.

But back to Baby Face. Jet would lay odds that he was the heir apparent to whatever Jet'd stumbled into and the harder edged one was his reluctant trainer. Baby Face would be fun to rile up. It'd get his ass kicked, but he'd go down with a smile on his face at least.

"She gave me the right to touch, and stroke, and kiss. Quite a kisser, that woman," Jet said in a near purr.

Tim started to tremble when Tony said that the bastard had kissed Abby. He kissed Abby. He put his slimy, wrinkled, disgusting, old hands on her. The hand Tim had holding the gun started trembling more noticeably. More than anything, he wanted to shove his knee as hard as he could into the man's groin, and then ram his fist into that cocky, arrogant face. See how much he really wanted to keep saying then, instead of spewing all that crap about Abby. It wasn't true. It wasn't possible. Abby'd never be interested in someone like this creep.

"There's no way," he growled, "no goddamn way she let a scumbag like you touch her. She's too good for you, too good for anyone. I know she's got bad taste in boyfriends sometimes, but her taste isn't that bad, not bad enough to include you. So keep your damn trap shut before I shut it for you."

Timothy McGee wasn't normally a violent man, rather preferring to leave the brute force of the job to Franks and Tony, and, most often than not, Ziva. Though more comfortable with a gun now than when he had first started, Tim tended to be stronger digging around computers and hacking for clues than in interrogation. Granted, he was improving there too thanks to observing the other men's work. Ziva wasn't allowed to interrogate suspects too often as they sometimes didn't come out intact from the room.

But this was Abby. All bets were off.

Jet almost felt sympathy for a kid who wore his emotions on his sleeve like that, but he had to keep his mind in the game. And he knew this was a game, all of it. From the moment he'd walked into the event, but even further back, from the moment he'd begun building this identity and becoming this person. Everything he did, every move he made, was a delicate dance along a tightrope and below him was a pit of man-eating sharks, mouths wide open.

Some days he wondered if he wasn't too old for this.

And when he saw someone like this kid who obviously felt something for a woman way out of his league, Jet wondered where his life had failed. He'd never been as innocent as this kid. Losing his mother at a young age, having a father who he fought with all the time, the Marines. Innocence had been dragged out of him. And it'd been buried forever when his wife and daughter were killed while in the hands of federal law enforcement agents.

"Easy, kid. If you get a chance, ask her who kissed who. And who was making little cat sounds in the back of her throat." And who had knocked him down like a sack of potatoes.

"Why you son of a…" Tim pulled back to take a swing at the guy, not realizing that being beat up was probably part of the suspect's plan. Right as his arm started to swing down, he felt Tony take hold of him, preventing the impact. "Tony! What are you doing? Let me go. Tony, let my arm go! Someone's gotta teach this cocky, son of a bitch a lesson." He struggled futilely against Tony's hold, needing to release his anger.

"Abby's not like that," he exclaimed, turning on the suspect again. "There's no way," he said again, repeating his earlier statement. "There's no way." But a part of him had to realize that what the suspect was saying was true on some level. He had seen Abby's state when they busted in that alcove. He had seen her run away. What if what the guy was saying was true? And Abby had reacted so strangely? What did that mean?

So, he had gotten to kiss what Baby Face hadn't, Made a lot of sense. He cocked his head, giving the other man a mocking little smile. "Abby is just like that. One hell of a kisser and what she did with that tongue…"

Exaggeration, but if he kept them off balance the possibilities he could get free increased.

Tim's struggling increased dramatically at the suspect's crass words. No one got to talk about Abby that way. She was too good of a person to have someone spew out stuff better left for the bedroom. _No, not the bedroom. He will never be in Abby's bedroom._ The coffin would probably scare the man to death.

He smirked at that even while he still fought against Tony's hold. For all the creep's suave looks and cool demeanor, he was probably a rigid old man, who would never appreciate the creative and fertile mind behind Abby's eyes. Imagining how the man would react to finding out that Abby was really a tatted Goth, who liked to play with voodoo dolls and sleep in a coffin, Tim's blood managed to cool enough for him to hear Tony calling to him.

"TIM!" Tony rarely used his first name but this op was the time for it. "Don't let him rile you! It isn't worth it! He's pushing you because he knows you're going to react. Stay on target. Stay in the game!"

Tony tapped Tim's head like Mike did when they needed to focus.

Tim winced as Tony's hand made contact with the back of his head, but it did help to refocus him. There was nothing he could do here right now. But when he got back to NCIS headquarters, there were plenty of things he could do when he was behind his computer.

"You can't lay a hand on him, Tim. And Abby wouldn't want you to put your neck on the line like you're doing. Don't give him any power. Don't allow him to screw with your mind, Tim. He's a dirtbag. He isn't worth it."

Tony knew he had to get through to Tim but he wasn't sure how to accomplish that. He tried to keep his voice soft and quiet even though he knew it was McGee who had to decide that this dirtbag wasn't worth it.

"Think of Abby. And think of how Mike is gonna ream him, Tim. You know Mike'll get answers no matter what he needs to do to accomplish it." Tony grinned, knowing it was forced but not really caring. If it looked a little unstable, what the hell. Maybe that'd get the dirtbag thinking. "He is toast, Timmy. He just isn't smart enough to know it yet."

A low growl coming from him, Tim said, "Abby wouldn't have to know. Can't you see that he's gonna go after her. That he thinks he's made some claim to her. He can't have her, Tony. He can't." But he had to concede to Tony's logic about Mike. "Think Mike'll let me at him when he's done?" he asked, though he was pretty sure he knew what the answer was going to be.

"McGee," Tony said warningly. He was as pissed off at this guy's balls as Tim was but he was used to suspects blustering. Sometimes he forgot that McGee was still a probie at heart. "Let Mike work him over. Don't listen to him. Abby doesn't like grandfathers. She doesn't even like older uncles, remember?"

Tony was bothered by the guy's calmness under fire. This was a problem. He'd either been expecting this or had backup and they had to be extra careful. If this was the drug-dealing Marine scum, he was going to spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth and the team would gladly put him there.

Shoving Tony off of him, Tim started pacing, throwing furious looks at the stranger. He knew that if he didn't get his emotions under control he could blow the entire investigation. _Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Breathe, McGee! Go to your happy place. Think about writing, sitting in your leather chair, your pipe smoking in the ashtray next to you, a hot plotline flowing from your fingers, the clicking of the keys._ It started working, calming him, restoring him to a state more like the Timothy McGee people knew.

When he finally got himself under a little bit of control, he asked, "So what do we do now? Can we take him outside now, or do we have to keep listening to his crap?"

"Back with me, Tim?" Tony asked quietly, He'd usually rag on the Probie but not with a suspect provoking him. They were family and this guy was screwing with family and they stuck together. "Ready to get the dirtbag to the big boss? Mike will make him pay, and not leave any marks."

"Yeah, Tony. I'm back with you. Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me," he said, hoping it sounded like a good enough explanation, or at least a good enough excuse that Tony would drop it and Tim could be left to figure out how to get the old bastard back. He may not have the physical prowess of Franks and Tony, or the cunning and skills of Ziva, but Tim had his own ways, his own strengths that he would use to get the suspect in his own way.

"Happens to us all," Tony answered, giving McGee an encouraging look. And with the way Tim felt about Abby, Tony should have expected it. "Let's get moving. Wasting a lot of time here."

Tony jammed the guy's hands down to the small of his back. "You yell, we shoot and ask questions later and dead is dead, got it?" Tony knew in his gut that this guy had done something to shake Abby up and even though he knew it was unprofessional, he accidentally slammed the man's head into the wall as they left the alcove.

What the hell? Jet's head was reeling anyway and when it was slammed against the wall he saw stars. He'd figured this whole situation wrong and was screwed as a result. She was the bait and not the mark at all and he'd fallen into their trap. His bosses knew he went on and off grid at will. How long before they got worried and investigated? Too damn long, he knew it. He was on his own here.

As soon as their guards were down, he needed to overpower them and get free, whatever the cost. It was the only option left for him.

Leading the way out, Tim cleared the hallway again and proceeded quickly to the nearest exit, covering each alcove, room and hallway along the way.

Tony led the guy out, feeling the tension and the bunched muscles. "Killed before and I'll kill again, so don't get any ideas, buddy." He tried to use his Jack Nicholson voice, but he was too worried about Abby to make it sound convincing.

When they got outside, Tony hurried to the van, aware that the dirtbag's backup could be lurking behind every car or up every tree. He opened the door and threw the guy in for Ziva to handle then came around the front. "Boss, Abby took…" Then Tony realized Abby was in the passenger seat. "You okay, Abbs?"

She turned to look at the voice coming through her window. "Hey, Tony. I'm okay, I promise. I keep telling Franks that, but he won't listen to me." Holding up her hands, she said, "See? No bruises, no marks. He didn't hurt me, I swear. I'm just…not good in the field. I belong in my lab. That's all. Gonna check that off my list of things I do well. Field agent, no. Forensic scientist, yes. Did I…Is he okay?"

Her lipstick was smeared. "Did he force you to kiss him?" Tony asked quietly. Abbs was his best friend. She was the soul of all of them and he hated that she'd been put in this position. But Ziva was too cool in those circumstances, nobody had wanted to approach her before and in the meantime people were dying. They were desperate to find answers before anyone else got hurt.

She didn't answer him. She couldn't. What would Tony say, or for that matter what would Mike say, if they knew that she had let a suspect get that close? Close enough to kiss, to touch, to…_stop it, Sciuto_, she warned herself. Sure, she could blame it on being undercover and that it was part of the job. But Abby wasn't the kind of girl to lie to her guys that way. She knew, deep down, that it hadn't happened because she'd been undercover. _Maybe I can blame it on a low intake of Caf-Pow…hmm…_

"He said you kissed him. Is he lying, Abbs? Did you kiss him or did he force you…" Tony had to know how hard to kick his ass,

Abby turned to look at him, desperation painted all over her face, darker than the smeared lipstick had been at the beginning of the evening. "Tony…" she whispered, begging him not to push it, to push her. What if he lost respect for her? She'd never been in this situation before, never been put on the spot like this. Well, once with Mikel, and that had been hard enough. This was so much different, so much more exposed than even that ordeal had been.

Leaning forward, she popped the visor down. With a Kleenex from her clutch, she wiped at the lipstick that had given her away, that had put her in the spotlight in between Mike and Tony. Looking in the small mirror, she finally noticed how swollen and red her lips were now, even without the makeup. She looked…well, kissed.

"Abbs," Tony replied, her eyes telling the story. He watched her, knowing there was a lot that they needed to deal with. Why she was so shaken up. Why she seemed to have changed in such a short time. His Spidey senses were screaming that there was a lot more to this and they needed to investigate not only the dirtbag but how he'd shaken Abby up.

And when she wiped that lipstick off, it just make her look even more like she'd romped with some random dirtbag, not less. And it bothered him. He and Abby weren't involved—never had been. But he thought of her like his tattooed Goth wild child sister and nobody was going to mess with her on his watch.

Settling back against the chair with a "whoomp" sound, all she could do was stare at her face in the mirror, defeated, knowing she wasn't fooling either of them. Her lips were swollen from her encounter with Jet, her eyes wide and confused, her hair was slightly messy. What kind of a tangled web had she gotten herself in now? _Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive._ _How fitting,_ she thought bitterly. _Sir Walter Scott had NO idea how right he was when he wrote that._

Closing her eyes against the sight in front of her she asked again, "Is he all right?"

Tony wondered why she was asking about the dirtbag. Did she not trust them? Or was there something to that kiss? "He's fine. Have him in the back of the van. May have hit his head…" Tony gave a wolfish grin to Mike, knowing that the boss would know that it hadn't been completely innocent but that it had been justified. The dirtbag had hurt their Abbs. He was lucky he was still walking. "But he's fine, Abbs and you never have to see him again."

"He's in the back?" Abby asked too quickly. Starting to turn around to look, she had to check herself. Sitting back down in her seat, she slumped, trying to make herself smaller as if the impact of the day would hit her less that way, as if by shrinking herself Tony would miss the concern she just showed for a possible suspect. "No, Tony, you're wrong. Mike wants me in on the interrogation. I'm going to have to see him again." _Come face to face with him again._

She knew Tony would throw a fit. Abby'd never been in one before, and she'd obviously been shaken up by tonight. She could only imagine how Tony was going to react now, he was her little hothead.

Mike and Tony exchanged an alarmed look when she twisted to look in the back before she restrained herself. "She can stay in observation, Boss."

"Not happening, Tony. She's gonna be in there with me. Shake him up. Well dressed lady like that."

"Let her stay in observation," Tony said, hoping Mike would listen to reason but knowing that their stubborn boss had his own ideas and wouldn't budge. "Do that thing with the two-way glass and the lights so he can see her for a second."

"DiNozzo," Mike growled and Tony winced, waiting for the headslap, but it never came. "I'm the boss. You're the senior field agent. Start acting like it and get back to work!"

Mike gave Tony a significant look and Tony knew what he needed to do.

"Tony, I'm okay. Really." And while her heart was still in her stomach at the thought of facing him again, especially in interrogation, she knew she couldn't get out of it. That Mike would put her in there because of some tactical advantage he saw.

"Bull," Tony muttered but he wouldn't completely call her out in front of Mike.

"Bull," Mike echoed in a grunt, leaving it at that for now. He knew Tony would get more out of her on their drive back to the Navy Yard than he would here. And he would pump his senior agent for everything, no matter how small the detail. They both had Abby's well being at heart.

Rolling her eyes at the two men, she tried to play it off, despite her inner turmoil. "You two really are overprotective, you know that right? You'd think I was made of glass or something. Fine, I may not be okay right this second, but I'll be okay soon. Back to my normal self and bugging you guys like always for evidence and Caf-Pow. But right now, I'm happy with just my favorite drink." To prove her statement, Abby took a big, healthy drink through the giant, red straw, sighing in content as she felt the caffeine hit her system.

"You make us overprotective, right, Boss?" Tony asked and Mike nodded and grunted in agreement.

"Just don't think of him as innocent," Mike growled out. "If he is, we'll figure it out. If not, you don't need to be pining for another dirtbag." Like the one whom she'd dated and who was stalking her. They'd come too damn close for comfort on that one.

"Now get lost, both of ya!"

The plan had always been that Tony and Abby would drive the sedan back to the Navy Yard but he could always drive Tim if she needed the security of Franks.

"Abbs, come on. We're driving back to the yard together. I'll even let you play Android Lust as loud as you want to." Mike nodded his thanks to Tony and Tony wondered how he could work that into a day off or another favor owed.

"You will, Tony? I can play anything I want?" Right now, she wanted to play some jazz, or maybe even some dirge music. But she'd keep up appearances, keep up her normal sense of being until she had a private moment to find herself again. And then…then she promised herself that she would figure this out, or at least try to.

Mike shot Tony a "better you than me" look and shook his head. He hated her music and they all knew it. Which was why she played it so loudly, especially when Mike was looking for some evidence. He'd break her discs and then buy her new ones when she made a discovery that helped him close his case.

"Anything you want," Tony replied with an internal wince. The twenty minute drive was going to be so much fun. Maybe he could convince her to listen to something that might calm them down instead.

"Don't think I didn't catch that, guys. If you don't want to hear my music on the way back, you shouldn't have offered. Now I think I'm going to have to punish you with something I just know will set off your musical warning systems. Hm…" She tapped her chin with a finger, pretending to contemplate her choices. In all honesty, Abby had no idea what she was going to choose. But she was trying, for her guys; she was trying to put on a good show for them.

Tony chuckled and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. If it gets me my Abbs back, you can blast me right out of the car." He was still off his game, still rattled a bit, but as soon as he got Abby away from the dirtbag, they could all calm down and relax.

~*~

Ziva was in the back of the van, listening with one ear to the conversation going on in the front with Franks and Abby. She couldn't hear much, but what she could set her on edge. Something had happened to Abby inside, something she wasn't coming forward with. If that man had hurt her friend…

Suddenly, the back doors were being opened and a man shoved into the back by Tony. Rising from her seat quickly, Ziva pulled her Sig and covered the suspect.

Jet had been tossed unceremoniously into the van and looked up to see a dark haired woman dressed in black looking down at him. She had a lethal look to her and he swallowed hard, measuring distances in his pounding head. If he could kick out and spring upward…

But there wasn't enough room in this small cargo van for that maneuver. It only happened in action movies and this was real life. And he was being held with people who had real weapons and deadly intent. Those moves didn't work in the real world and he had no desire to get himself shot before absolutely necessary. Shooting was a last resort and encouraging people to shoot you was only accomplished after negotiations failed. And he hadn't even begun to negotiate yet. There were bargains to be made. Everyone could be bought for a price.

He watched as the younger guy slipped in the back, the one with the rounder features and baby face. He might be easy to overpower but the woman was far from a pushover. Then there was the other guy, the leaner, meaner one. And where was the girl—Abby? It was still possible he'd gotten her into this mess.

Tim got in behind the man called Jet Brooks, happy to see that Ziva was covering him with her weapon. Seeing the man's tensed muscles, Tim growled out in his best impersonation of Franks, "Don't even think about it. You may think you could get past me. But I can guarantee you won't like what she'll do to you if you make a move," he finished, gesturing to Ziva.

Brooks chuckled. "Okay, Killer Bunny. I won't hurt your girlfriend." She did look pretty dangerous and he wasn't a fool. He'd see how this would play out, what negotiations he could make. There was no way he was going to show his hand or try for an escape unless he was sure the odds were in his corner. As it was there were at least three armed goons and his arms were secured behind his back. Given time and a little mobility, he might have been able to pick the locks but it would take time and a bobby pin. The time he had and the pin was under his watch but he was under close surveillance. He'd have to work slowly and methodically so as not to let on what he was doing.

Seeing Tim's reaction and the growing anger coming from him, Ziva knew she had to be the one to react or her teammate might do something he regretted. "I would not be pushing him, if I were you. He may not seem someone to take note of. But if you are the type of man I believe you to be, one who has seen much violence and the underthigh of things," she paused when she heard McGee mumble 'underbelly, Ziva.'

"Regardless," she continued, "if you are that type of man, then you would know that there are some people who to underestimate would be at an extreme detriment to your end goal: survival," she finished, her accent thick with the energy of the night.

He arched an eyebrow in acknowledgment of her assessment but wisely stayed quiet. He'd worn out his wisecracks for now and this one didn't have the softness of this McGee or the patience of the other guy. Team of three and he heard a couple of voices up front. He was outmanned and out numbered. He'd wait and see what they had planned before he acted. But in the meantime, while they were talking, he'd make contingency plans.

Ziva watched him, not fooled by his sudden silence. He wasn't struggling, wasn't fighting against his restraints. Most people, when secured in that fashion, fought for freedom. But this one, this one was too calm, too observant. She would wager that he was planning something, had some sort of ideas swirling in his head. _Yes, she would indeed have to keep her eyes on this one._

He could see the wheels turning in her head. She was a strategist much like himself and she'd measured him better than the two men had put together. She had that wary look of combat experience and he imagined she was damned good with whatever her weapon of choice was, be it guns or…knives. As at ease as she was with her gun, there was something that fit her hand better and he was sure that was a knife. Or knives. Where had she come from? And just how lethal was she?

Moving to the far end of the van, Ziva kept her weapon trained on him. Carefully she watched for signs of change or movement any indication of escape. Sitting down on a seat near where she was standing, her gun still trained on the suspect, she addressed McGee.

"So, what happened? Is this our guy? What did Abby say? Is she okay? Wait, McGee, was he read his Miranda rights?"

Shaking his head, he sighed. "I don't know what happened, Ziva. One minute she was next to me, and the next, I couldn't find her and Tony was rushing the hall. And then we found him," he said, watching the man with anger in his eyes, "at her feet. She was shaking, completely dazed like she didn't know where she was or what was happening. Then, she just ran from the room. Ziva, she looked distraught. She looked…" But he couldn't finish that statement. He couldn't think about what may have happened to her.

If Brooks had hurt Abby, he didn't deserve any rights. But he didn't want the jerk to have a loophole to get out of whatever hole Franks and the team put him in. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

Miranda rights? They were Mirandizing him? They were law enforcement? Oh, this just got better and better. He started chuckling then, shaking his head at the irony. "Yeah, I understand. Charges? And who the hell are you people anyway?" Were they going to get him for sexual assault? For being a jewel thief? He knew Interpol and the FBI were working together, the net closing around him, but they couldn't possibly be close enough for an arrest. And these guys weren't FBI. The dark-haired one could be Interpol with her exotic looks and accent but he didn't think she was. He had good instincts and great contacts and he hadn't seen her before.

He arched a brow, looking at Baby Face, unable to hide his smirk and the relief that flooded through him. He was in a hell of a mess, but at least they wouldn't kill him.

"What are you laughing at, dirtbag? I should wipe that smirk off your face," he threatened though Ziva held him back with a look.

"Calm down, McGee. It will do you no good to upset the operation now." Looking down at their suspect, Ziva added, "You will have to wait to find out what you are asking after. I am not at liberty to say unless given permission by my superior."

Turning back to the other officer, she asked, "Do you have enough to run the facial recognition now, or do we need a better picture? Possible prints as well, I imagine? You or Abby will have to run them when we get back."

"Irony," Jet shot back, letting them connect the dots. The operation….she said the operation, as if they were military. Not "the case", but "the operation". There was no way a military agency like CID would be involved in this, even though there were some uniforms at these events, bored admirals, colonels, generals. He filed that away along with their refusal to tell him who they were. The two guys who had grabbed him were in evening wear, the woman in cargo pants and a pullover. "If you're real law enforcement, announcing yourself is a good policy. And wearing clothes that identify you doesn't hurt either."

This Abby was going to run facial recognition and his prints. Oh hell, he was in trouble now. He had to hope his past was as buried as money could buy.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Trying to give Mike an encouraging smile, trying to show him that she was as okay as she was telling everyone, Abby shrugged out of his coat and handed it back to him. "Thanks Mike. I'll see you back at NCIS, right? You'll let me know when you need me for…for the interrogation?" She took a deep breath to steady the nerves that threatened to bust out of her.

"I'll call you, Abby," Mike promised, wishing he didn't have to call on her, even though he knew he needed her input. "Go with DiNozzo, get some of that caffeine stuff. Get ready for a long night of work." His eyes flicked over her outfit. "Swing by your place if you wanna get a change of clothes."

It was pure protectiveness, but Mike didn't want her dressed like that in front of the dirtbag. He didn't want the guy looking at her curves or her cleavage. No man needed to see her like that, much less this dirtbag drug addict/possible jewel thief.

"Thanks, Mike…for everything." Moving next to Tony, she turned around and said, "I don't need to go back to my place. I always keep a set of clothes and stuff at NCIS in case I have a court date and need out of those ridiculous clothes, or for just in case."

"I'll get started on processing the facial recognition of him…him and the rest that you and Ziva captured. Do you want me to run his prints too? Can Tony take them? I'm not quite ready to see him again." Waiting for Tony to move, she slowly opened the door and slid out.

Taking a final drink of her Caf-Pow, she sighed. "Tony, can we pick up some more?" she asked, shaking her empty cup. "I think I'm going to need it. I think I'm going to need a lot of it. One for the processing, and at least another one for the interrogation. Hm…maybe two."

"DiNozzo, get the discs from Ziva. We'll print him at the Navy Yard." Mike squeezed Abby's hand very gently and motioned her to leave with a soft, "go on, Girlie."

"I'll take prints," Tony said though he never had done them before. Having seen them done would have to be enough though. He wasn't exposing Abby to him any more than she absolutely had to be, especially given the fact that she had some kind of connection to this creep. And it was a connection none of them wanted her to have. It was dangerous, both for her heart…and soul.

"Tony, you know better than that. You know it has to be someone trained, or the prints will be inadmissible in court. It will have to be me, Tony. You know that," she reminded him quietly, realizing that it was the only way. "When we're back at NCIS, I will take them. When we're interrogating him, I'll print him. Kill two birds with one stone, right? Still gonna need Caf-Pow, Tony. Lots of Caf-Pow."

"Might have to be, but I don't have to like it, Abbs. We'll be there with you, one of us. You never have to be alone with that dirtbag again. Don't know what he did to you but we're gonna make him pay, Abbs. Whatever else he did, he's gonna pay for hurting you."

This look of vulnerability wasn't a good one on her. It didn't suit her any more than the neck without the spiderweb did. That tattoo had been a part of her for so long that he already missed it. He understood that she wanted to get rid of it and that it was created when she was a teenager, but she just didn't seem to be Abby without it. He wasn't used to it being gone yet.

And her eyes shouldn't be glimmering like that with tears and sadness.

"Aw, Tony. You're a real sweetie. You may strut around with a too cool attitude, but you really are just a softie at heart." Giving him a watery smile that was meant to make him feel at ease, she added, "And I won't be alone in interrogation, right, Mike? You're gonna be there. And I bet Tony, McGee and Ziva will be behind the glass. I won't be alone, Tony. I'll have my family there."

Tony flushed when she called him a sweetie and shrugged. "You're my best friend," he answered, as if that explained everything. And it did to an extent. He loved her and would protect her at any cost. "We'll watch out for ya, Abbs. It's what we do."

"And you're mine, Tony. But that's not what you do. You guys are NCIS Special Agents, not Abby Sciuto's personal guard dogs against actions or choices she makes that may cause her more harm than good. But I do appreciate my guard dogs, I really do."

"We're good guard dogs. And we even bring Caf-Pow."

"Damn right you won't be alone. DiNozzo can be in with ya while ya print the dirtbag then he can sit and wait until I'm good and ready to question him. Might be a while." Mike gave Abby a smile that was a little cruel. She knew he'd made his suspects wait for hours at times before questioning them, getting them when they were tired and irritable and their natural defenses were down. And this one had probably drunk some stuff inside the party. He'd get vulnerable sooner than a perfectly sober man. Too bad they couldn't get him right back and into questioning.

"Abby? How much he drink? You remember?"

"You guys are cute in your overprotective ways. To drink? Maybe a glass and a half. But I have no idea what he'd had before then. Could've been a lot, could've been not at all." _He could've had me_, she thought with a disappointed sigh. She shivered again as she remembered his touch, on her throat, on her thigh, against the wall. It wasn't fair that someone she was so attracted to was someone she helped arrest.

"Did he seem sober?" Mike asked, knowing his gaze was sharpening. "Could we have an advantage in interrogation, Abby?" Mike barely resisted the urge to rush her, knowing she was a little fragile and not at all herself right now.

_God, yes, he was sober. Made me drunk off of his soberness, his kisses, his touch, his…stop it! _Abby was pretty sure she was going to go crazy if she didn't have a little time to work this all out on her own. Taking a breath, she said, "Yeah, he seemed sober, sober enough in any case. And I don't see how that's going to help in the interrogation, unless it's 'cause he has to pee."

"Lowered inhibitions, easier to get off balance." Mike knew Abby had learned this at FLETC, but she didn't seem able to remember her training right now. "Easier to control the flow of conversation. Easier to lull into a false sense of security. Abby…" Mike could see from the wildness in her eyes that she was done. She needed to come down from this in her own way and that probably involved that caffeinated crap that made her extra hyper.

For some reason, she fed off being hyper, her concentration growing the more she absorbed that syrupy crap. It looked disgusting and smelled even worse and Mike Franks was a lot of things but he wasn't fool enough to taste it.

"Get her a couple of those Caf-Pows on me, DiNozzo."

"Yeah, Mike. I know. I'm just…tired. It's been a long day. A few Caf-Pows, and I'll be myself again," she said, trying to reassure them both.

"You heard the boss, Tony. Caf-Pows. Lots of Caf-Pow. One for the ride home, one or two for the interrogation, and who knows how many for the times in between and after!"

She knew she probably didn't have to remind him; the whole team knew about her Caf-Pow obsession. But it didn't hurt to give them little reminders every now and then.

Good thing the Caf-Pow machine at work was usually full. Tony gave her a smile, feeling completely relieved when she asked for more Caf-Pow. He'd give her the moon and the stars right now if it got her back on even ground.

"Come on, Abbs," he said, coming around to her side and opening the door. Assuming she'd go right to the car, Tony went to the back of the van and opened the door.

Though she finally had her trembling under control, she knew that it would be awhile before her mind followed suit. Not really thinking clearly, Abby proceeded to follow Tony, not realizing where he was headed. But once he opened the door, she couldn't stop herself and came up behind him. She had to know he was all right; she had to see it for herself that he was uninjured. Why this was such a big deal for her, she still didn't understand.

"Timmy, Ziva, Dirtbag," Tony greeted, glad to see the guy was kind of subdued. "Got something for me, Ziva?" He motioned to the digital recorder. "Our Abbs is gonna run her magic in case this dirtbag is lying about who he is."

Abby stumbled a step when she saw him, bound up and on the floor. Grabbing Tony's arm to catch herself, she bit back the need to protest his treatment. How could such a vibrant man, someone so full of life that everything around him drained of color, be trussed up and tossed on the floor like garbage. Abby knew, somehow, that it had been Tony who had done the trussing and the tossing.

She looked him over, trying to see if had sustained any injuries. There was a growing bruise on his temple. And from Tony's earlier statement, she guessed correctly that it had been her friend who did that to the prisoner.

"Abbs! What the hell! Get over to my car right now. You don't need to be here!" Tony tried to shoulder her aside but she wasn't budging and he let out an internal sigh at that. Tony turned and glared at her, giving her a dirty look, wondering what she was thinking. "Abby, don't do this. Step away, Abbs. Step far away. You have to deal with him later, don't invite this right now. Do not allow him to rattle you."

But she wasn't listening, digging in, the Caf-Pow cup left forgotten and swinging in her loosened fingers before it slipped to the ground, the ice within clinking and rattling. But Abby was too focused on the creep to even notice what had happened.

"Abbs…" Tony whispered the plea, knowing he couldn't force her to move until she was ready.

Abby blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Vaguely, she heard Tony admonish her, heard him tell her to go to the car. Seeing Jet in the back of the van, she couldn't leave, not yet. Stepping even closer to him, more in the range of the people in the van, she said, "I am not a child, DiNozzo. You don't get to tell me what to do."

Absently, she looked down at her foot, feeling a cold, wet sensation. Seeing a melting ice cube on her heel-clad foot, she looked at it curiously, wondering how it got there. Seeing the empty, opened cup, Abby realized she must have dropped it. Swooping down, she righted the discarded Caf-Pow before standing back up again, intending on picking it up before she left. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet the man lying on the van floor.

Jet's eyes widened as the traitor stepped up behind the guy. He gave her a wink and a smirk, rattling the cuffs a little. He didn't say a word, knowing her imagination would paint a brighter picture than his words. And he wanted her shaken up. Few women rattled him like this one had and he hated that she'd gotten one over on him.

Her cheeks lit up crimson again as images blasted through her overactive imagination, images of her being the one cuffed with Jet standing over her, dominant, in charge. Visions of naked, undulating skin, roughened hands against soft flesh, bodies surging, moans, pants, bites and screams, all threatened to overwhelm her.

When she met his eyes, he licked his tongue over his lower lip slowly, promising something that had been over before it had begun. As annoyed as he was about her part in this, he was glad she didn't seem to be in danger.

God, she was beautiful when she blushed. Jet's expression turned more serious now. "You okay? These thugs hurt you?" He wanted to ask what her part in this was but he knew he didn't really want to know the answer. He had been trapped far too easily. It shouldn't have been that simple and it just proved what he knew. He couldn't let his guard down around women. They all screwed ya in the end.

Abby almost laughed when he called Tony and Tim thugs, knowing they were anything but. "No, they didn't hurt me. They wouldn't think to," she replied quietly. She wanted to talk to him, was almost desperate to talk to him, to ask him the same. Instead, she didn't realize her hands were moving slightly, signing what she could not say. _Are you all right? Did they hurt you? I'm sorry._

She did that sometimes, signed when she was…not herself. Since no one had ever been able to read her, she had never had to worry about it in the past. She was alone with that talent amongst the team. So, she could sign in whatever state put her off her game; nervous, excited, overwhelmed, upset. All her emotions seemed to come out in her hands.

She signed? He had a way to communicate with her that the others didn't seem to understand or chide her for? This could be a good advantage. He gave her a slight shrug, looking at her hands and then meeting her eyes, arching one brow. He couldn't outright answer her without tipping the scales, but he'd file this information away and use it later.

Seeing him look at her hands and raise an eyebrow at her, Abby looked down at her hands, finding them signing without her realizing it. She only did that when she was nervous and upset. Clamping her hands tightly to her, she looked back at him, lifting her chin in challenge.

She had to get her emotions under control, or she'd never last through the interrogation. Yeah, she was an emotional type. Yeah, she had an open door policy on her heart. But she was still tough. She was still the Goth with the black nail polish and spiked-dog collars. It was time she started acting like it. Shoving her hands to her side, she kicked up her chin a little higher and met his eyes again.

He raised an eyebrow again and lifted his chin as well. Yeah he was slumped on the ground of a van, but he still had his dignity and his arrogance. And both were in large supply as her chin came up proudly and his lifted as well. He wasn't going to slink around like a two-buck criminal. He was Jet…and he was a hell of a lot more than that.

"Should have told me you were a cop," he said, breaking their silent challenge. "Could have had a lot of fun with the handcuffs not to mention the stun gun. Hit me just as it got really hot and sexy, Abby. Hope you know what you unleashed." He lowered his voice, using it as yet another weapon in his arsenal. "You kissing me was the best part of my night. Wanna re-enact the crime?"

Hearing his voice again, hearing what he wanted to do with her made her knees weak. There was something about the gravely tone of it that made her hungry to hear more, to hear more about what he would do to her with the cuffs. She may not be a cop, but she certainly had those to spare, among other things. But the stun gun? Abby couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that, wonder what he would use it for.

_What she unleashed? Did that mean he was going to try again?_ Abby couldn't decide if she was thrilled or petrified at the thought of him kissing her. _Probably a little bit of both_, she thought, being honest with herself.

When he asked her if she wanted to "re-enact the crime," her whole body and mind screamed_ YES!_ But she couldn't say that, not to a suspect, not in front of the team. Instead, she lamely replied, "I'm not a cop. I'm a scientist. A forensic scientist," she clarified.

"Oh?" Jet asked with a smirk. "What were you collecting there? Hair samples? DNA? Interesting cheek swab technique. Never heard of that one before." He winked. "But I liked it. A lot."

There was a definite spark between them and he knew there would be a way to salvage this, if she was willing and able. And if he played his cards right, she would be both. When the time was right, he'd show his hand and see how it all played out. Hopefully without any interference beforehand.

As long as everyone did their jobs right, his identity would be his to share when he judged it most advantageous. Until then, he was perfectly content to be Jet Brooks. These cops could rough him up, but they wouldn't kill him. There were advantages here. Even though they didn't know it, he retained some control.

While his expression remained cocky and arrogant, Abby could see something behind his eyes, something that kept her knees weak and her mind working. _Was he not the callus bastard he was trying to make himself up to be?_ The chemistry between them was like a live wire, everyone around them could feel it. What if it wasn't just a heat of the moment, undercover thing? What if this attraction was real? She was going to have to keep her eyes and ears open, was going to have to watch how he behaved. Maybe there was something after all.

"I was there…" at a dirty look from Tony, she stopped in her explanation of her undercover op. Since she couldn't explain, maybe she could have a little fun, even in front of the team. "Yeah, I was there collecting evidence. Don't know if I gathered enough though. With so little of an amount, it probably wouldn't hold up in court."

"Then c'mere and kiss me again," he shot back. The look of pure longing in her eyes told him that she was interested, whatever her guard dogs felt about it, they couldn't stop this attraction.

The idea of her kissing him slowly, wet drugging kisses, those lips parted and little breaths gasping out. That was an image he wanted to hang on to. Even though her lipstick was gone now, her lips were a little swollen, naturally reddened.

He slicked his tongue over his own mouth and just eyed her.

Though every muscle in her body screamed for her to go to him, she knew that would be a huge mistake. Not only would doing so in front of Tony and McGee completely set them off, but she still didn't know him, didn't know if he really was just trying to play her, to use her. She may be off her normal game, but she wasn't as stupid as she appeared to be in that moment. Didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun with it, Tony and McGee or not.

"I would, but you seem to be…in an inconvenient position, at the moment, tied up and surrounded by guns. I'd only be getting in the way."

She was cool at this moment in time and he couldn't help but be a little impressed. He knew she was still rattled but the fact was she met his eyes head on and didn't shirk from what had to be a very awkward situation. She was a more complex puzzle to him every moment and he wanted to get to know her much, much better.

"Touché," he said, his voice little more than a husky whisper. "Who put me here?" He studied her, his expression perfectly calm and composed. It wasn't where he thought he would end up but she was a bright spot, one he planned to examine more when he got out of this jam.

"You did, when you spoke of jewelry, instead of…" she stopped then, knowing the line when she approached it. "Then I did when I took my stun gun to you. So, we are both guilty of putting you in this situation." Her composure was slowly crumbling under his gaze, under his voice.

He sat there, so cool and collected. To see him, no one would be able to tell he was cuffed and surrounded by highly trained agents, bent on seeing justice done against him. But something about him, something in his eyes and in his voice, hit her in the gut, hit her so deep inside that she doubted his guilt, doubted he was the bad guy she, and the rest of the team, had originally painted him to be.

"I was talking about your eyes and lips," he said, the rehearsed line coming out smoothly. "You didn't think I was going for your necklace, were you? I was cupping the back of your head." A slight smirk lifted his mouth. This was going to be very easy. Divert and regroup and then he'd be able to try a new angle. Once he saw where their thoughts were leading, he could adjust and manipulate the situation at that juncture. He was good at thinking on his feet and this situation just proved it. He knew a few people who would be impressed if he could ever tell them the truth of what had transpired.

And there was a softening in her eyes that led him to trying a new tactic.

"This is just a huge misunderstanding. You'll see."

Tony huffed out an angry breath, sub-vocalizing a growl. "Abbs, get into the damn car. NOW!"

"Tony, stop. Don't yell at me," she whispered, not wanting to take her eyes off of Jet. Her innate curiosity was driving her to find out what it was about this man - this possible criminal - that lit her blood on fire and caused her heart to race. She had never felt something like this before, something so elemental her mind couldn't grasp the implications.

He knew she had to feel the bond between them, couldn't imagine what she was thinking and feeling right now. But her status explained a lot. Why had they sent her in there if she wasn't an officer? Was she one of those bad kids repenting stories he'd heard about on the idiot box? Was she being forced to do this?

Seemed far fetched but his mind was examining all possibilities now. But it didn't make sense, didn't tie in with her relationship to the men and woman. They were protective over her; they had a tight bond with her.

They appeared to be a tight team…

She watched him look between her and the rest of the team. More than anything, she wished she could ask him if he was alright, to ask him what he was thinking, to ask him if he really did want her…but instead, she just stood there, feeling more and more like an idiot with each passing moment.

The team was annoyed with her, overprotective now since they believed she got herself in way over her head. Jet was sitting there, alternating between glaring and something else she wasn't ready to name. She really wished she had Bert to squeeze right now or at least the chance to talk to Jet privately.

Jet watched the play of emotions on her face. She seemed alternatively blustering and then vulnerable. She couldn't know that she had bitten off much more than she and her friends could chew though. He had to show up as a dead end or this'd be a cakewalk compared to what was ahead for him. He concentrated on breathing normally, realizing that his pulse and breathing had sped up when she stepped into view, pale and vulnerable looking.

They might have been pros but he was relatively certain she was a newbie. And maybe, just maybe, she could be bent to his will or used for his own devices.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, almost…fear. Well, maybe not fear. Fear was not an emotion one would normally consider with a man like him. But there was something he was concerned about; something had him on edge farther than the circumstances warranted. _Only, what would the proper level of concern be for being tricked, tied up and thrown in the back of a van?_ She thought, caustically.

Glad that she had hold of Tony's arm, she knew that if she was on her own two feet she probably would have swooned. And Abby was never one for swooning. She thought it was a ridiculous notion for a girl. But standing in front of Jet with him winking at her, she suddenly knew why some girls did that. In all her years on the dating scene, on the club scene, even occasionally on the BDSM scene, she had never felt such an overwhelming desire as she did in that moment.

There was something in her eyes, he realized. The interior lights of the cabin had her mostly in shadows despite the street lamp giving him some insight to her expression. But her eyes flashed and gleamed, something surging forth that he couldn't recognize but wanted to examine. She really was nothing like her friends. They were hardened, even Baby Face, but she…wasn't.

Having observed the exchange between Abby and the suspect, though they spoke very few words, Ziva jumped out of the van, knowing the two other men would have the suspect covered. Walking up to Abby, she cupped the scientist's face between her hands, her gun holstered for the moment.

"You okay, Abby? We need you, I need you to focus. If I am worried about you, my concentration will not be focused entirely on the job of getting the suspect safely back to headquarters. I need to know that you will be with us now."

Tearing her eyes away from the locked gaze with Jet, Abby focused on her friend. "I am okay, Ziva. I keep telling people that, but no one will believe me. Do I have something painted on my face that says 'fragile, hand with care?'"

Confused, Ziva said, "No, your face has no paint on it, only the makeup we applied this afternoon."

Laughing fully and loudly at Ziva's bizarre response, Abby released some of the pressure that had been building since her green eyes first locked on to Jet's blue ones. Though the pressure cooker of emotions was still building, still leading onto an explosion of one kind or another, Abby was grateful for the momentary relief. Leaning in, she kissed Ziva lightly on the nose, knowing no lipstick would be left behind, and knowing that her friend wouldn't have expected it. "Thanks Ziva. That helped, a lot."

Dropping her hands in bewilderment, Ziva watched Abby before jumping back into the van, taking up her position near the perp. Pulling out her gun, she trained it on him again as she waited.

Tony hadn't wanted to provoke either the suspect or worry about McGee feeling vulnerable so he just glared at the jerk, fingers running over his gun slowly. When Abby kissed Ziva on the nose, Tony couldn't help but smile slightly and as soon as Ziva was back in the van, he shut the door, blocking the dirtbag from seeing Abby.

As he closed the door, she stretched her neck to get one final glimpse of Jet. She could only hope that McGee and Ziva would treat him fairly. McGee might let his mood get the better of him, but Ziva was always cool, rarely let her emotions get the better of her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Though not the emotionless warrior Abby once named her, Ziva had better control over herself than most people. She could keep herself in check until a time came where she would deal with them more appropriately. Timmy on the other hand…

"Come on," Tony said a little roughly to her. "We're getting the hell outta here. What did Franks drill into us from the first days we started working with him? Never let a suspect in. You keep opening the door up wide, Abbs. You can't do that. I can't let you."

She lowered her head as he chastised her, knowing what he said was true. "I know, Tony. I know. I don't know what happened, but I can't change who I am. I wouldn't be me if I did. Caf-Pow, loud music, heart on sleeve, all equals Abby Sciuto."

"Which is why you need to start listening to the trained agents on this job!" Tony stood in front of the doors of the van and pointed to the car. "Get over there. Now! Not a suggestion, Abbs. An order." Tony could rattle off a dozen movies where the woman got screwed by getting too close to a suspect but he knew Abby wouldn't appreciate them right now. Maybe not ever. Tony hadn't missed the connection—whatever it was—between them. And it pissed him off.

She looked up at him, hurt that he would treat her like a child, especially so close to the team and the suspect. A cruel retort on the tip of her tongue, she turned, grabbed the discarded Caf-Pow cup and walked to his car. Leaning against the hood, she stared down at her painted toes and waited for him to unlock the doors.

_It's not like Tony's never made a mistake before_, she thought, a pout coloring her lips. _Andt I never told him "I told you so" or made him feel like he was two inches tall. Never yelled at him, except for that one time about matching the bullets. But Kate'd just died and I was upset. And it hadn't been about him. And now, he's yelling at me 'cause I kissed a suspect – while undercover – and I kinda liked it. Ha! Just watch, DiNozzo, I'll print Jet myself, without you. You'll see._ She kept her eyes trained on the ground so that he wouldn't be able to see the plans already at work.

Tony walked to the car and unlocked the doors with keyless entry, lingering at the front of the car. He glanced up, seeing Abby's sad expression. This went beyond her feelings for the guy. Tony pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head, wanting to protect her even though he knew she'd never accept it.

"Didn't mean to yell, Abbs. Just didn't want him getting a rise out of you. Don't like him having power or control over you." The need to protect her, especially since Kate's death, was so strong. It was as if his instincts were screaming that this guy was trouble with a capital T. And that Abby would gladly jump right into his web.

"He's a dirtbag, Abbs. Remember that. He's trying to get a rise out of you. There isn't real meaning behind it."

Abby struggled for a second, not wanting him to comfort her. But because it was Tony, she gave in, letting him pull her into his arms. But she wasn't going to go quietly. She was still hurt and a little pissed.

"He may be a suspect, Tony – I'm not likely forget that, am I? – but he didn't treat me like a child just now. He didn't yell at me or give me orders he expected to be obeyed that instant," _Okay, so yes he did, but that's beside the point, and Tony really doesn't need to know that, or he'll really be pissed. _"I'm not as naïve or innocent as you guys might like to pretend I am. Besides, he's getting more of a rise out of you and Tim than anything I've done so far. So, maybe I'm not the one he's trying to get off their game."

"And you've known him for all of two minutes. Not fair, Abbs. I'm just watching out for you." He didn't with Kate and look at what had happened there. "I know you're not naïve or innocent but you're letting the dirtbag get to you. And you need to stop, Abbs. Not a healthy situation for you. I know you like bad boys but this guy was armed with multiple weapons. Not a dirtbag you need to be playing with. Abby, he could have stabbed you with one of his fancy ceramic knives that he got through the metal detector. This isn't a good guy."

Tony sighed, tightening his arms around her, snuggling her in close, almost holding her too tightly now. "He'll use you, Abbs. And then he'll throw you away like that Caf-Pow cup." _And we'll have to pick up the pieces_, Tony added silently.

"And you've known me for seven years, and you yell at me. Tell me how fair that is? And I know you're just being protective of me, but can't you imagine how hard this is for me? I don't pick on you and your women choices. Just because he happens to be a suspect - who is innocent until proven guilty, remember? – doesn't mean you have to be so insulting. I haven't done anything," _yet_. "He could have hurt me, Tony. He could have but he didn't. He had time, plenty of it. But he didn't."

Sighing, she said, "I'll be careful, Tony. I promise. I've been better since Mikhel, not taking as many risks, not taking home guys that are too…odd."

"I know how hard it is for you. You were staring at him with longing and he was looking back like he was the hunter and you were the prey and you didn't notice. Abby, he had two ceramic knives on him. Not a pocket knife, not a multi-tool, but killing knives. And he shook you up. I'd feel exactly the same way if it was Ziva, or McGee, or even Mike in this position, Abby. You're all the family I have and I worry about you."

Tony was still furious at McGee. "Tim lost you and trust me, he'll hear about it from Mike and me. On other teams, he could have been demoted for what he did. He was supposed to watch your six, Abby, while I worked the perimeter of the room. What if the guy had more time? What if he was just warming up?"

Tony was shaken up. He knew it could have been—should have been—much worse. They caught a very lucky break and he wished Abby realized that. They could have just as easily been waiting for Ducky to remove Abby's body, her throat slit. She could have easily been raped or killed. Tony shivered a little and held her tighter, his imagination carrying him away.

"I was 'staring at him with longing?' Tony, you've been reading too many romance novels." She'd been staring at Jet with lust, unadulterated, complete and total lust. Longing was something left for a dimestore novel, as her dad used to call him.

"Tony, you're worrying too much. Really. He didn't hurt me. He could have but he didn't." Stepping back from him, she held out her hands and turned around. "See? No marks. Totally the same as before I went. But don't blame McGee. It wasn't his fault that the crowd separated us."

"You were shaken up!" he shot back a little hotly. "You looked dazed. I spent a second looking for blood on you. You looked like he knocked you senseless. And it was McGee's job to keep you in his sights every minute. He's a trained federal agent. I blame him even if you don't. And Mike'll blame him too."

Walking back up to him, she put her arms around his waist again, hugging him to her. "I promise I'm okay. Please don't worry so much. I can take care of myself. I did with Chip. I did with that hired gunman. I'm pretty tough."

Sighing, she went on, "I know it was risky, but how many ops have you guys gone out on? How many of those did one of you get hurt? How many times have I had to wait to hear if you were even alive? I'm okay, Tony. No injuries, still in one piece.

He held her tight, almost crushing her now. "Do you have any idea how close those two times came. You're Abby, you gave up being a field agent and for a good reason. And yet trouble finds you everywhere you go. How many other forensic techs fight death every year? It isn't just your taste in men."

"And I love you too, you big jerk. Now can we can the lecture and go back to NCIS? It's cold out here."

Tony sighed and nodded. "Fine. We can go back to NCIS, Abbs. As long as you're ready to face him. And Mike." He didn't know who he was more worried about her dealing with.

"So your initial impression of my reaction was wrong, right? Yes, I was shaken up. Yes, I felt senseless. But he didn't hurt me. He didn't harm me in anyway." She almost said 'he didn't touch me,' but she would have known that was a lie. Because he had touched her, only for a moment, definitely not long enough, but enough to have left her shaking, and shaking still.

"He kissed you. That was assault. He had no rights to have his mouth on yours, Abbs. And look at him. Not a tat or piercing in sight. And he's old enough to be your grandfather. You can't tell me you find him attractive. Come on, Abby. Mikhel was your type. For some crazy reason, _McGee_ was your type. But that guy? Not your type."

"And Mike won't do anything to me, Tony. He loves me and nothing I've done will warrant him getting angry with me. He'll be cranky; he'll be gruff. But he'll forgive me. He always does. And he'll forgive Timmy soon, just like you will eventually."

Tony sighed, knowing she was right. Mike would forgive her—and Tim. He was soft hearted when it came to the team. "Mike can be a wimp," he muttered, shaking his head. "And you work that. But wait 'til Morrow hears. Probie'll be in a world of hurt then." So might Mike, come to think of it. It'd been Mike's decision to send Abby undercover again.

Director Tom Morrow had a soft spot for Abby, even bringing her Caf-Pow sometimes. And when Abby had been stalked by Mikhel, when Abby had been shot at by Ari Haswari, Morrow had been right there protecting her alongside the team. He was charmed by her and if he hadn't been very happily married and Abby so well loved, the rumor mill would have churned.

"Tony, I…" she didn't want to tell him this; she didn't want to hurt him or make him think less of her. Almost embarrassed, almost ashamed, she whispered, "Tony, I wanted him to kiss me, it wasn't assault. I was willing. And I'm sorry. But, Tony, when have you known me to have a type? There was Mikhel. There was Tim. There were others and they never fit a mold. A look is never what I'm attracted to. I think you of all people could understand that."

When he called Mike a wimp, she punched him in the shoulder. "Mike is not a wimp. Don't give me that. Mike's the farthest from a wimp as you could possibly get. Only the Director could possibly any tougher."

Abby loved her guys and her girl. They were always so protective of her; Morrow, Mike, Tony, McGee, and Ziva. All of them watched over her like she was their little sister. Only, sometimes, that caused more problems than it solved.

Mikhel had been a jerk, a complete loser with tattoos, and piercings, a death fetish, and stringy hair. What did he have that Tony didn't.

"Yeah, Mike is great. Yeah, Morrow is great," Tony said sourly. He knew he was being a child about it, but he couldn't help being annoyed and a bit upset, even though there was no basis in fact.

She was never attracted to him. Ever. Tim, yeah. Mike, she made comments about how sexy he was. But Tony? He was just the big brother, always. He didn't want to date her, but it would have been nice to have been thought of as a guy just once. A guy…worth dating.

Tony knew that dating Abby would be a disaster but even so...

He hated feeling less than Mike or Probie, for God's sake.

"Tony!" she exclaimed. Pushing on his shoulders, she asked, "Are you jealous? Do you really think that I've never been attracted to you? Really?" She wore a bemused expression on her face, completely shocked that Tony was showing his insecurities in this. He'd always been so confident about girls.

"A little," he muttered, shrugging. "Would be nice to hear I'm the hot one rather than McGee, or Mike, or the pierced kid at the coffee shop." He gave her a brighter smile now, sighing. "So I'm just irresistible to most of the female sex. Ninety-nine point nine percent. Somehow I'll survive. But come on, let's go. Mike'll skin us alive if we're late to the party."

"Of course you're hot one, Tony. So, who's the point one percent? Me?" she snorted at that. "You better gun it then, DiNozzo! Mike'll blame you, not me." She laughed a bit when he rushed to the driver's side. Sliding into the passenger seat, Abby just shook her head as his foot hit the gas. He really didn't like disappointing Mike.

As the street lights flashed by, Abby started to reflect on what had happened that evening. She'd failed at her mission. She'd gotten somehow involved with a suspect. She'd disappointed her colleagues, her friends. But she still couldn't get Jet out of her mind. As her mind drifted, her body heated in remembered passion. As she played with the channels on the radio, she started tingling again where his hand and lips had touched. Despite her teasing with Tony, she knew, underneath it all, that something had happened between her and Jet. Something had changed, but she didn't know what to do.

"Mike loves me best. I'm his senior agent," Tony retorted but he hit the gas hard when she said that. He let her fiddle with the radio, watching her as much as he could on the drive. She was deeply disturbed by all of this and she wasn't hiding anything from him. He just wished there was a safe way to let her know that without triggering her defenses.

"I love you, Abbs," he finally said in a quiet voice, not at all surprised when she was too deep in thought to answer.

~*~

Mike banged on the door that separated the driver's area from the surveillance compartment. "We ready to go, Ziva, Tim? Suspect secured?"

Looking at McGee for confirmation, she hammered on the same partition, calling out, "Suspect is secure. We are ready to go back here."

Watching Tim move to the other side of the van to take up a rear position on the suspect, she focused on the man on the floor. Reaching down, she shifted him to a sitting position. Not really trying to be nice, Ziva just never saw the point of being overly cruel.

"Don't Ziva. He deserves to be on the floor, like the dog he is. Not comfortable and sitting up," Tim growled. "He hurt Abby. I don't know what he did, but she ran from the room, shaking and pale."

Jet shook his head, amused. He nodded to the woman as she settled him more firmly against the side of the van, in a sitting rather than leaning position now. "Baby Face doesn't listen. She kissed me. I kissed her back. She liked it a little too much and panicked. Now I know why." He smirked at the young guy and gave the woman a cool but still challenging look.

"Just because I have yet to yell, pout, or storm around in regards to your treatment of Abby does not mean that I am not upset by it. She is my friend, my good friend, and if I find out you hurt her, in any way, it is me you will have to answer to. And I am quite a bit deadlier than the others," Ziva said matter-of-factly. "And while she may have kissed you, I have strong doubts, very strong doubts, that it was she who initiated the kissing."

"Noticed," he answered. She had a lethal look about her that he'd recognized as soon as he'd been tossed in the van. She was a worthy opponent and someone he was intrigued by even though he knew crossing her was not an option.

With her exotic looks and accent she could have been Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, or Latina, but the more he observed her, the more he began to think she had to be Middle Eastern. And with the name Ziva being spoken by someone in the front, he was certain of it. There was wariness and a watchfulness that bespoke of a combat-ready soldier. He recognized that even though he'd retired from service when his family had died.

"Good," she nodded. "Then I will expect you to understand that escape is impossible with your current circumstances, and I would hate to have to shoot you. Which, I will of course if you attempt to overtake either one of us, despite the fact that you may or may not have some connection with Abby. But I will deal with her if the time comes. She is my friend and she will understand. And though I will not shoot to kill, I will shoot you in someplace that will cause great pain and great inconvenience in the next few years."

Definitely Middle Eastern…and lethal. He nodded, his knee twitching at the thought. He'd been injured there in Desert Storm and didn't relish having another injury that stuck with him.

"I'm cuffed. Makes running a bad idea. But right now I'm viewing this as a kidnapping since you guys Mirandized me but didn't tell me any charges. What am I being charged with?" If they didn't get their acts together, they'd screw everything up even further.

"To someone with experience, handcuffs would be a minor obstacle. I could be out of them in about fifteen seconds. With a bobby pin, five. This is no kidnapping, Mr. Brooks. You have been Mirandized, and your charges will be explained to you when we get to headquarters and you are in interrogation. My orders are to detain, not explain."

He gave her a look of acknowledgment. His best was about seven seconds. "Maybe you need better cuffs then. Though it brings up interesting images." Her orders were to detain? She spoke in a very military manner, yet they were obviously civilian plainclothes. "Interesting," he finally said, drawing out the words. "You don't identify, you Mirandize, and you don't read me off charges. My lawyer will love this."

"You, sir, talk too much. Save your charm for someone who might be interested. I, for one, have no attraction to someone who uses their charm to get themselves out of trouble. Charm, no. Wits and skill, yes. And I have no need for better cuffs, when my weapons and my skill provide enough deterrent for our suspects. And if you wish to inform your lawyer, you will have plenty of opportunity when we reach interrogation to request one."

"Not trying to charm you, Ziver." He purposely extended her name, knowing he probably couldn't get a rise out of her but unable to stop trying anyway.

"Ziver? Did you misunderstand my name? It is Officer David, or Ziva if the occasion calls for it. But Ziver?" She arched an eyebrow at him, wondering at his motives. "You may not be trying to charm me, but you are used to talking your way out of situations worse than this, I believe."

"Confident woman," he added, giving her an appraising look. Whatever force had her was lucky. He could recognize a formidable opponent and she was the only one he'd seen thus far. Didn't mean Baby Face and his partner weren't, because he, among anyone else, knew that appearances could be deceiving, but he liked to think he could recognize a fellow warrior.

And she was….

Nodding at him, she responded. "Confident man."

"Not denying that, Ziver," he agreed mildly. "Not trying to charm you. Takes too much effort, I think." He returned her nod, feeling a slight thread of kinship with her. They were cut from the same cloth on some level. "Why didn't they send you undercover instead? Even as her lover, you would have been more convincing than…" He let his eyes flicker over Baby Face. "The boy who wears his heart on his sleeve."

"Tim," she began, emphasizing his name, "does very well undercover. As for myself, I did not fit the profile needed." Though he seemed genuinely interested, Ziva knew better to say too much about the undercover operation, especially considering he was in custody for being the possible suspect they were going after. "And as for effort," she shrugged, "it does not take too much if the charm comes from the right person."

"Ziva! Why are you feeding this guy's conversation? He's just trying to get on your good side, trying to make you feel bad for him. He assaulted Abby. He forced himself on her, made him kiss her,"

"Too hard to accept she kissed me when you want her, boy?"

"No, creep. I find it too hard to believe that she would have kissed a crinkly, old geezer like you. You are no more her type than any of those other rich snobs in there. And if she did have to kiss you, I have even bigger doubts that she actually enjoyed it. She did it because she was undercover, not because she had any attraction to your carcass," he growled out, though he really didn't believe it. Tim had seen Abby afterward, had seen her reaction. That was not the normal reaction of someone who was just doing their job. That was the reaction of someone overcome by desire.

Jet chuckled at that. He might have had ten—more likely fifteen—years on the boy but he was a man in the full prime of his life. The younger man—Tim, he remembered him being called—was so clearly defensive, he harbored feelings for Abby.

"She was attracted. Make no mistake about that, Tim." Jet deliberately used Tim's name now, hoping to knock him off kilter even further. If his coworkers were busy babysitting him, their attention wouldn't be fully on Jet. Escape wasn't an option but diverting their attention never hurt.

Tim almost gave himself whiplash as he turned his head to glare at the man on the floor. "You think you're so clever, using my name to rile me up. I have been harassed, stalked, trained, and head slapped by people much greater than you. And I wouldn't push the 'she was attracted' card too much. It'll just be that much more embarrassing when she proves you wrong." He knew he probably sounded like a whiny little child, but there was something about the suspect that aggravated him, something more than his connection with Abby.

He was protesting far too much and Jet hid his smile this time. He wouldn't humiliate the kid and the more he complained, the more petulance in his tone, the more sympathy welled up in Jet. He just watched the kid carefully, memorizing his body language and the way he moved, analyzing it all and filing it away for his advantage.

"Can't always win," he remarked quietly.

"Keep that in mind, dirt bag," Tim growled, using Tony's favorite word for suspects.

"Yes, sir," Jet shot back sarcastically and then closed his eyes, determined to ride this out and figure his next move before it was too late.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mike pulled into the evidence garage at the Navy Yard and went to the back of the van. "Ready?" he called before knocking on the doors, knowing that his agents had locked it from the inside. The ride had been quick and everything had been quiet back there, but Mike was always ready for anything.

"All clear, Boss," Tim called out, as he got up from his crouched position. Seeing Ziva do the same, he added, "We're ready in here." Clicking the lock to the unlocked position, he waited from Franks to open the door.

Moving to the suspect, Ziva grabbed him under the arm to help him stand. Once he was on his own two feet, she moved behind him to take the rear position.

Jet crouched in the van when he was encouraged to stand up by the woman. He considered the possibilities for an escape and discarded them. He was outnumbered and could probably disarm one but not all. And the guy outside sounded like a tough customer.

He tested his knee, moving it gingerly, trying to act like he was getting the kinks out.

Mike threw the door open and then backed off, gun at the ready.

"Ah, the welcoming committee. Take it he's the boss?" Jet asked, tossing that back to the woman behind him.

"You have assumed correctly. Now exit the van slowly. No sudden moves or my finger on the trigger may just echo the swiftness, yes?

He chuckled and shook his head. "Your captain will have your ass if you shoot a cuffed suspect in the back and we both know it, so you can give that scare tactic up." And the chances were he could disarm her with one well-placed kick, though he wouldn't take his chances. He could be a bit reckless but he wasn't suicidal and three-against-one odds in what looked to be a garage of some sort…

It'd lead to his death.

"Ah, but he is not my boss, you see, as I am a liaison officer. And my gun is not my only option for a weapon, of which I am sure you are aware. So shooting a restrained suspect is not my only venue. If you wish to remain alive and whole, please proceed to the rear of the van. I would hate to have to explain to Abby why I had to injure you."

"Hand to hand combat," he agreed, acknowledging the prowess he was sure she had. "Yes, ma'am," he added seriously, no BS, no sarcasm. Outside of riling her up he'd treat her like the warrior he was sure she was, giving her a level of respect Baby Face hadn't earned.

"Good, now proceed to the exit, if you don't mind," she finished, gesturing with her gun, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgement of similar experiences in their pasts, experiences that made them comrades of sorts.

"Get out slow and easy." The guy had a gravelly voice, one that rang bells in the depths of Jet's memory. He stepped down with a lot more grace than he'd been tossed in and took a good hard look at the man. It all clicked into place and he blinked a few times, momentarily shocked.

"Special Agent Mike Franks, I'm with…"

"NCIS," Jet supplied.

"Boss?" Tim asked slowly. "What's going on? How do you know who we are?" he asked, this time addressing the suspect, keeping his gun trained on him. Though he guessed he was overreacting, Tim couldn't help all the alarms that were going off in his head. There was something about this guy that convinced him to keep his guard up. Tim just hoped that Tony could convince Abby to do the same by the time they got back and joined them.

Mike shrugged, scrutinizing the guy. Blue eyes, silver hair, forties, lean body, expensive clothes. Nothing stood out, though the air crackled with energy around him. This guy was constantly in the ready position. And there was something about his eyes that dragged Mike's attention back, the whisper of a memory tickling his brain. He'd seen this man before, he was sure of it.

"Answer him," Mike said, pointing to McGee but keeping his weapon trained on the guy for an endless moment.

The guy gestured toward one of the vans. "I can read. NCIS. Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Think I committed a crime against a squid? I didn't."

"We'll see." Mike jerked his head toward Ziva. "Interrogation room One. With me, McGee."

~*~

Tony had gotten himself a coffee and Abby a gallon of Caf-Pow at a convenience store. She'd been hitting buttons on the radio for the entire ride, finding and zooming past a bunch of channels. He'd forgotten they were in the NCIS-issue cars and he didn't have the CDs. She'd barely said a word as he drove through the quiet streets to the Navy Yard.

"Abby…" he began and then trailed off.

Even the Caf-Pow wasn't settling her. Normally, as strange as it sounded, the Caf-Pow helped to settle her, to focus her mind. It was failing her now, since all she could think of was the few brief moments she had with the suspect, with Jet. His touch, his lips, his taste.

Hearing Tony calling her name, she turned in her seat towards him. "Yeah, Tony?" she asked, knowing their relationship was a bit shaky at the moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, genuine remorse in his voice. "I'm just real worried about you. I've never seen you like this over a guy and that one screams danger, like Jason or Freddy or Chuckie kind of danger."

He pulled up to a red light and squeezed her hand. "Even if he wasn't a suspect, I'd be worried. There is something almost wild animal about that guy, Abby."

Turning her hand over, she grabbed his. Looking down at their joined hands, Abby said, "I know, Tony. I know you're worried about me. And I appreciate it. I really do. But please, do you really think that guy is dangerous like scary movie dangerous? Do you think he's going to come after me with a chainsaw and hack me to pieces in my lab? Tony, you've been watching way too many movies alone. We need to have a movie night again soon. When was the last one? Christmas Eve?"

"Does it matter?" Tony shot back. "Dead is dead, Abbs." He pulled into his assigned parking space and gestured her out of the car. "Your lab and then interrogation. You need to change. That dress is too…" He smirked. "If we weren't best friends, you'd be in trouble, Abby. You're hotter than Jen and Angelina put together."

"Yes, it does matter. Because he isn't a murderer. He may be many things, he may be dangerous, but he isn't a murderer any more than you and Mike are." Getting out of the car, she came around and waited for Tony to catch up with her. Posing and preening for him, she asked, "Do you think I'm sexy, Tony?

Tony swallowed hard. Did she not know how sexy he found her? "Yeah, Abbs. If you showed a hint of interest, I'd jump you right now and you'd see just how sexy I find you."

She was usually his Abbs, his little sister, but in that dress with her hair swept up and the makeup so perfect, he was completely attracted. He could almost forget she was a little sister to him.

"Tony! You are a dork sometimes. I know you don't think of me as anything more than your sister. If you're attracted to me, it's one of two things. One, it's really good you don't have a real sister." She snorted. "Or two, you're only intrigued with me because I represent a mystery, something that you haven't accomplished yet. Since I know you pretty well, I'm gonna guess it's the second option."

"Or three, you've dated or said everyone else on the team is worth your time but not me. And it kinda bugs me, okay?" Tony retorted. Ziva made fun of his taste in women and his dating history, but Tony knew he and Abby had a much tighter bond.

"You don't need to be so jealous, Tony. Of course you're worth my time; you're worth more than my time. Yeah, we've never dated. Yeah, we've never kissed. But that doesn't mean to don't find you way sexy 'cause I do."

"You do?" he asked, perking up, chest puffing out a little. "Like Brad Pitt sexy, or Daniel Craig sexy or like your best friend that you don't wanna insult who is kind of cute but you'd never swap spit with type? Or like Halle Berry's husband, all pretty but nobody knows anything about him. Or like Tom Cruise kind of creepy sexy? Or like Hugh Jackman sexy?" He knew his voice sounded hopeful when he hit Hugh Jackman.

"Even though he's way older than I am."

"Oh definitely Hugh Jackman. There's no question about it. Rugged, tall, handsome. You're even hairy like he is. My own little Wolverine."

"Uh, great. I was thinking like Australia Hugh or even Van Helsing Hugh, but you pick the supernatural Hugh, which is great in an X men kinda way but Abbs, he is really hairy there. I'm not that hairy and you know it."

But how would she know. It wasn't as if she'd seen him nude or anything. And Ziva hadn't talked, had she? Kate hadn't seen much, at least he didn't think so. Unless when they were all showering after he'd unleashed the plague…

"Who said I'm hairy?"

"Hello! I have the video feed from when you were undercover with Ziva. Really undercover! Even Mike knows how hairy you are! Besides, Ziva's my friend, Tony, and we do have girls' night out. Movies, popcorn, chocolate – of course – and talking. LOTS of talking. And of course, she did rate your butt and Tim's butt. Tim told me."

Tapping her chin with her finger, she pretended to consider, "Now, which Hugh…I haven't seen 'Australia,' so I have no reference there. And you don't have the hair, on your head that is, or the big coat for Van Helsing Hugh. Since you don't like the Wolverine Hugh, what about the Kate and Leopold Hugh? Suave, handsome, a gentleman, though a little odd with his clothes. Sounds pretty good, right?"

"I'm not hairy," he insisted. Okay, his chest was kind of but not the rest of his body. Not his back and his butt. "I'm not so bad, Abby. I look like a guy, okay?" He bit him lip and thought about Kate and Leopold Hugh Jackman. "Suave, handsome, fish out of water who adjusted okay in the end? Yeah, I think I can live with that."

"You look beautiful in that outfit," he told her in utter seriousness. "Maybe it is the illusion but Abby….my god… You could be a Bond girl in that getup. And even if I don't want to date you…I could do other naughty things to you when you look like that."

Even though his words were honest, Tony knew he had to diffuse the tension, so he winked at her and looked her up and down. "And I thought Marilyn was hot. This is even hotter, Abbs. It's you this time."

Rolling her eyes, she twirled around. "Really, Mr. Bond? What kind of naughty things?" She knew they were just playing, knew that in the end they really weren't serious. But it helped, teasing and flirting like this helped to ease the stress of the evening, the strain of her interaction with the suspect.

"Like Halle Berry in that scene where she steps out of the water sexy," he said in his best Connery Bond voice. "Like Kim Bassinger in Never Say Never Again. Like Ursula Andress in Goldfinger, hot, Abbs."

He swallowed hard, realizing they were getting a little beyond casual teasing. "Like if you weren't so confused and this wasn't all screwed up, I'd kiss you, and I'd take you to bed. As Bond or Tony."

He gulped again. "That's why we have to get to the lab and you changed. Because if I'm thinking that, every other red-blooded male is thinking the same thing and I don't want to have to kill McGee and Mike."

"Anthony DiNozzo, some day you're going to run out of movie references. I wonder what you'll do then. But you still do a great Bond." She blushed under his scrutiny. "All right Tony. I get it. I need to dress like this with caution. 'Cause, I seem to keep causing problems tonight. Come on. Let's go. I'll head to the lab, and you go check in with Mike. We'll meet somewhere in the middle."

"Never. There is a movie for everything, Abby. And I've seen most of 'em." He grinned when she said he did a great Bond. Sean Connery's Bond was one of his heroes. Always suave, always sophisticated, a killer with the ladies. And the adventures he had in exotic places.

"But there are still a few you haven't seen, Tony. We'll find them and have a movie night of it. What do you think? When this is all over?"

He gave Abby a kiss on the forehead, backtracking to her other statement. "I'll be in the bullpen. Find me there. We'll go to interrogation together." More like the firing squad was the way he was looking at it. "Meet me up there when you're ready, capiche?"

Leaning into his kiss, she replied, "Right. When it's time for the interrogation, I'll come to the bullpen. Capiche, DiNozzo." _But for the prints, Tony, I'll be doing them by myself. I have to figure out what this is between Jet and me. And I can't do that with you hovering, ready to fire a gun if he some much as looks at me wrong._

"You've got it, Abbs. You bring the gumbo and I'll bring the beer and movies. You see Kung-Fu Panda yet? Or Bolt? How about Body of Lies? I bet you had a huge crush on DiCaprio back in the day."

"Ha, I bet you did too," she teased. "We'll need to choose a theme. Get a bunch of movies like that. Like, if you wanna do cartoons, Kung-Fu Panda and Bolt would work. Or if you wanna do more intrigue, Body of Lies and maybe some Hitchcock thrown in?"

Tony laughed, shaking his head. "Kate Winslet was kinda hot. Now Russell Crowe in Gladiator rather than Body of Lies. He looks old and fat in Body of Lies, even though he looks pretty decent regularly." Tony never turned down Hitchcock and he grinned. "You're staying over. Cartoons and Pop Tarts the next morning, pizza, adventure and suspense and air-popped corn the night before. Just tell me when and I'll make it happen."

"No on the Pop-Tarts, Tony. I'm thinking Mickey Mouse pancakes with chocolate chips eyes and smiles. How's that? As soon as all this dies down, we're doing it? You, me, junk food and movies. Sounds great." She gave him a genuine smile then, always loving their dorky time together more than anything else.

"Yeah, we'll do it," Tony agreed, giving her a gentle smile. "Like that. You and me acting like overgrown kids. Will be fun. "And a break from what was going on here. "Though Probie and Ziva think I always act like a kid, or a fratboy."

It was a delicate issue and one he didn't usually bring up. He shouldn't now, so he just shrugged. "Movies and my best friend. Sounds pretty incredible to me." And Tony had a sinking feeling everything was about to change.

"I can't wait, Tony. Nights like that are some of my favorites. Plus, it's a great stress reliever, getting to act like kids. Takes my mind off of real life for awhile." Shaking her head, she added. "Well, I know you're no fratboy, Tony. You're much more than the joking, prankster façade you show in the bullpen. Besides, there's nothing wrong with acting like a kid, so says the girl with the pigtails," she declared.

He tugged on one, giving her a small smile. "Don't change, Abbs, okay?" he knew he was being silly and stupid but he felt deep down inside that he was losing her. That tonight had changed everything and not for the better. But he wouldn't say anything.

They were getting back on even and comfortable footing and Tony realized that was what they both needed. "No interrogating him without me, Abbs."

"I know, Tony. I know," she responded. "You'll be behind the mirror and Mike'll be in the room. I won't be alone in the interrogation room. I don't even think I'll be an actual part of the interrogation. Mike'll do it. I'm just supposed to be there to put him off balance."

There was some sort of glimmer in her eyes but he brushed it off, nodding. "Yeah. Just don't let Mike manipulate the situation too much, okay? You're not a pawn in his chess game." Their boss was old school, old style, and he'd been known to twist a situation to his advantage. And sometimes people got hurt. This time it would not be Abby. Tony wasn't above complaining to Morrow if he got uncomfortable.

"I know, but he'll try. And I can take it. Maybe I'll even do a little manipulation of my own. You know he can't say no to me. And I know you'll be there, behind the glass to protect me, you and Ziva. Probably even Timmy. My guard dogs," she said affectionately.

"Can't protect you while you're in there, Abbs," Tony said softly. "Don't let anyone get to you. Anyone at all. Mike, McGeek, Dirtbag. Promise…" Tony knew his voice sounded intense and maybe a little too emotional, but he was worried about her. And not only her body, but her emotional health and well-being.

"Tony, I will promise to do my best. I promise to keep my guard up, to try and not let anyone get to me. But I can only promise to try." She reached up and hugged him, hearing the distressed sound to his voice.

Tony nodded and swatted her gently on the bottom. "Trying has always been good enough with me, Abbs."

~*~

Jet looked at the officer and cocked an eyebrow. "Multiple Interrogation Rooms? Playing with the big boys, NCIS." He eyed her carefully. "Where from, Ziver? DEA or ATF in The USA, but I'm betting you're foreign, one of the MIs in Britain or maybe even Mossad. Or could you be Interpol." Was NCIS somehow involved despite what he knew and the channels he monitored? There hadn't been a peep about their involvement and he would know. He'd definitely know.

She rolled her eyes at his continued calling her "Ziver." "I do not know about other agencies, but the multiple interrogation rooms have come in handy when we have multiple suspects needing to be questioned." Pausing in front of the elevator, she waited for the car to stop on their level.

As the doors opened and Jet walked inside, she waited for the doors to shut behind them before answering him. "I am with Mossad as a liaison officer to NCIS. I have been for the past four years."

"Mossad," he replied, impressed. It made sense. And she worked semi-permanently with NCIS and not just for this op. Again, interesting. With his back to the wall, he manipulated the thin pin out from his watch and picked the locks on the cuffs, leaving them secured for a long moment before getting out of them and dangling them on a fingertip.

"Seven seconds, but my fingers are bigger. Don't get itchy. Not resisting." He manipulated his shoulders but kept his hands upturned all the while, the cuffs hanging down. He even made his posture less commanding, a clear deferment to her control of the situation.

"Impressive. What did you have to help you? Something hidden in your watch? The guys should have taken that from you as well."

"You guys didn't do more than a cursory search. I'm sure you will before I'm interrogated. But if it had been a wire, I could have taken even you out." He didn't answer her question, just stowed the pin in his watch. She knew and there wasn't any point denying it.

She rolled her eyes when he told her McGee and Tony hardly searched the man. That caused her more worry than the knives. "You could have tried. So, is Jet your real name or something you use for your own purposes?"

"Anything I say could be used against me," he pointed out calmly. "Jet suits me." It was as truthful a non-answer as he was willing to give her. "Don't you think? Works on a few different levels."

"Point taken, Jet. And yes, on many levels, it suits you. Which leads me to believe that it is your given name, or at least part. Or perhaps a nickname you picked up in primary school. Someday, I hope to learn this since you intrigue me. But for now..." She let her sentence hang in the air, knowing the position they were all in.

"Nickname," he agreed, not admitting to the former part. The fact that he gave her any information was a testament to the bond that was growing between them. It was nothing like the romance and heat of his dealings with Abby, but it was a bond nonetheless, formed when they were on completely opposite sides of a situation. There was something about her he both recognized and respected.

"Interesting nickname. Someday, I hope you will be able to tell me the story behind it," she said, acknowledging his offering of information. The camaraderie she felt with the suspect was highly unusual, and generally a bad idea for an investigator. However, in her time with NCIS, Mike had taught her that instinct was rarely wrong – his gut, as he called it – and that it was best to go with impressions of a situation, rather than complete emotions.

"Someday maybe I will, "Jet agreed. "But in return I want to know more about Mossad comes to Navy Cop-land. There's a hell of a story there." He knew she felt their bond as well but he wouldn't push it, wouldn't make it something that he could take advantage of. He knew instinctively that it would break an unspoken code between them, a slight thawing of the tensions that he needed to regroup and continue to focus.

"Sounds like a good exchange, Brooks. And I believe the stories will be intriguing on both parts." Ziva normally never felt comfortable with new people in her life and never with suspects. But there was something there, something about this man that she felt a kinship with, as if they shared a past. More than likely, the shared past came from making the decisions that changed everything, the ones no one liked to make, that more often than not saw someone dead at the end.

Eyeing him, she knew he was hiding something, and not just the details of his past or his current situation. Raising an eyebrow, she waited, letting him know she knew.

She just continued to watch him and he met her eyes levelly. "Left side of fly, plastic knife," he said, giving her something that her agents hadn't found. It was only two inches long with a deadly sharp tip, and nearly impossible to find unless they'd searched all his clothes. Finding him unconscious, it probably hadn't been a huge deal for them.

He shrugged. "Don't blame 'em. They had me cuffed before I came to. Wasn't like I was going to resist or break out of the cuffs easily." But he could have, he'd proven that to her and knew she'd weigh that for future busts.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Ziva approached him and began searching for the weapon after she pulled a glove from her pocket. Making the search quick and simple, she found the knife and extracted it from its hidden position. Giving him a nod of thanks and appreciation, she wrapped the knife in the loose glove and held on to it.

"Oh, I will blame them, and myself. I should have known better than to assume they had covered the bases for patting down a suspect. Especially, since both of them seemed to be controlled by some rather negative emotions in regards to you."

"I could have kept that," he pointed out quietly. "And you and I could have fought. Someone would have gotten hurt. If Baby Face had been watching me, I would have won." He didn't say outright that they needed to be more careful, but he knew she was astute enough to glean that from their conversation.

"I know you could have kept that, Brooks. I also know that you told me out of respect and a show of good faith. When I report to my superior, it will only go to improve your situation. So, your gesture worked in two ways. A smart move for someone detained."

"Respect. Not any advantage I'm trying to gain. When this all makes sense to you, Ziver, you'll understand." It was as bold as he dared get right now in the face of everything crashing and burning around him. "And maybe you'll be willing to listen to reason rather than kicking my ass then."

Nodding, she replied, "I will withhold my judgment until then." Laughing, she shook her head. "I sound rather ominous in that. But thank you for your sign of respect. Perhaps, someday, I will be able to show the same. As for the two who left that weapon on you, they will hear from me. I keep them in line. That is my unspoken position on the team, to keep them in check."

He shrugged. "They saw their friend shaken up. She's a forensic scientist, bet she isn't undercover much. They reacted as men rather than agents. Done it myself." And if he'd walked into the situation he would have reacted as they did. Initially anyway.

"You're more used to keeping your head." He knew it was the truth, that she was the calculating part of their team, Baby Face was the emotion, and the other guy, he didn't know where he fit yet. He'd had the look of a career cop, but he'd been emotional too.

"And I cannot say that had I been a part of the team who found you and Abby that I would not have reacted much in the same manner. But for your sake, I would stop trying to explain the situation before your interrogation. Anything you say has to be reported on to Franks, and, as you said before, anything can be used against you. Even Abby," she said, giving him a piece of information as her own show of their odd bond. Abby wouldn't do a thing to put him in jeopardy, not if the situation between her and the suspect were as Tony and Tim had told her. But Mike would use Abby, in whatever way was necessary to get to Jet. Though he loved Abby, he had no qualms of using anything at his disposal, including people.

She had very valid points and he angled his head, nodding. "He uses her and there will be trouble. I'm not gonna lie down and let him use her. He already used her." Now Jet was getting riled and hotheaded and he knew he had to dial it down. He'd already revealed too much and exposed an Achilles' heel.

He let out a long gust of air and stared at the wall, knowing he had to calm himself. "If you care about her, you won't give your boss an advantage to hurt your friend. He's astute. Let him figure the situation out himself. She'll get hurt and there will be no purpose."

For the first time he considered coming clean, but he didn't want to tip his hand yet. He needed that advantage.

Ziva watched his aggravation rise as he spoke of Abby. _Intriguing. He is already protective of her, though she has shown herself to belong to the "other side." I wonder what this says for the two of them. Does he care for her? More than any of us realize? And Abby? Does she feel the same?_ Ziva knew that soon, she and Abby would have to have a heart to heart. She needed to make sure her friend wasn't heading down a road to heartbreak.

"You're a worthy opponent, Ziver. How did NCIS snag you?" He paused as he waited for an answer.

"I requested this assignment, as the liaison, after an incident when one of my charges went rogue. As the handler, the situation went south and my agency handled it poorly. I had to leave. Having worked with NCIS and Special Agent Franks before, I knew this was an agency I could trust, people that I could work alongside of without the need of subterfuge."

She was letting him in, feeding him information and he was strangely surprised. He hadn't given her anything yet and she saw something in him that allowed her to open up. Something he wasn't sure she did with very many. "Rogue charge, huh? Sounds like a mess." He wondered if NCIS knew how lucky they were to have her.

"It was a mess. And I should probably stop talking now. Attention needs to be focused on you, not on me. I have been the focus many times before." Coming to interrogation, she opened the door to Room One and waited for him to enter.

"All right," he responded, knowing she'd realized how far she was going and naturally reined herself in.

Following him inside, she waited for him to take a look around the room before saying, "I do not know how long it will be. But I will be stationed outside. Will you need anything? A water perhaps?"

"No water needed. You want to tell me what I'm accused of? Warrior to warrior. I'm curious…"

"Again, I am not at liberty to say, even warrior to warrior. You will not be handled with contempt. You will be handled with respect and with your rights in tack. But I am under orders. I cannot violate those orders, despite the man I believe you to be."

"Didn't assault Abby," he insisted, hoping she understood and believed him. It was important that she have some respect for him. "Don't hurt women or children." Unless I have to, he added silently. "Understand orders. We all have 'em. Intrigued though. Wonder what you think I did."

"I certainly hope you did not. Because if you did, Tony, Tim, even Franks will not be the ones you should worry about. Abby is my friend, and I do not have many of those. She is special and the heart of this agency. However, I will reserve my judgment until I have spoken with Abby on my own. She can tell me her version of what happened. And, if you also want to, you may tell me your version. Then I shall make my own conclusions."

"If you need me to…" he said and trailed off. He walked the perimeter of the room, looking at the two-way glass, the television monitor, the speakers, before sitting in the chair across from the mirror and placing his hands and the cuffs he still held deliberately on the table. "Would you like to recuff me, Officer?"

Unlike with the others, he treated her with respect, as if he thought of her as a peer. No more riling, no more sarcasm, and he certainly wasn't going to use his charm on her. And she was right, he saw her as a very strong warrior. Of all the agents under Special Agent Franks' command, this was the one who could take him down the most easily,

Then again, Abby had knocked him out, both emotionally and literally.

He looked up at Ziva, awaiting her instructions but otherwise sitting calmly and coolly. Jet wasn't about to give them a show. He was under federal custody; it wasn't as if he was in harm's way. Yet. What happened here would remain to be seen.

And then there was Abby and their connection. He sighed, eyeing himself in the mirror, running a hand over his hair and smoothing the front down before sitting taller, military posture coming out, his hands folded on the table.

Nodding at him in understanding, feeling the strange bond of kinship developing between them, Ziva left the interrogation to take up the position guarding the door. Not knowing exactly what had transpired between Jet and Abby, Ziva chose to reserve her opinions unlike her hotheaded coworkers. Answers would come soon enough.

He nodded, silently appreciative that she didn't recuff him. He removed his watch as well and placed it on the table, nodding at the two-way mirror before sitting quietly, knowing he was under surveillance and observation.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mike waited until Ziva and the suspect were over at the elevators before he turned to McGee. "Tell me everything, Timothy. Everything you'd put in a report and then your impressions." Mike watched as McGee handed him a evidence bag with a couple of knives. Mike signed off on them and then held up the bag. "Nice." Two ceramic survival knives, very high end. "We need Abby here. Don't care what his ID or business card says." He motioned to the card inside the evidence bag. "We're running everything on him. He'll be in the system."

"When we were inside at the party, Abby and I were separated by the crowd. I kept her in my sight, but left her alone, per your orders, so that the mark could approach her unhindered. When Jet Brooks approached her, I kept her in my line of sight. He grabbed her hand and took her down a side hall. That was when I lost track of her. Tony and I met up at the entrance and went to clear the rooms. When we came to the room Abby ended up being in, we heard a thump. Tony called out 'NCIS' and we charged the room. That's when we found Abby, shaking, white as a ghost, with the suspect unconscious on the floor. We cuffed him, patted him down for weapons and found those two knives on him. In the van, we Mirandized him. And now we're here."

Taking a breath, he watched the elevator doors shut with Ziva and the suspect inside. "My impressions? He's a scumbag who tried to take advantage of Abby. He's willing to do whatever it takes to get what he's after. He's not afraid to use people to his advantage. But I have to be honest, Boss. He doesn't seem to be the type to be into drugs. Brooks is too…put together, to in charge of his surroundings to be involved in something as out of control as drugs."

Mike took in all of Tim's words before speaking. "How long was he alone with her, Tim? Could he have assaulted her? He had his paws on her." Instantly Mike could see that Tim was getting agitated and knew he had to try a different approach.

"Proof of identity? Where'd you get his name? This business card?" Mike pointed to the card inside the evidence bag. "He have a license or a passport on him?" Mike was relatively sure they'd be fake but even so, he had to check.

"What makes you think he isn't our man, McGee?"

"From Abby and the suspect, it doesn't seem he had enough time to do anything but kiss her, which he admitted to, and from Tony's behavior, I think Abby did too. Admitted to kissing him that is," Tim sighed, frustrated.

"Other than what is in that evidence bag, we have nothing else to use for IDing him, nothing else to verify that the name on the card is the name he was born with. Boss, I don't know why. In my gut, I guess. I don't like him. There's something…off with him. Abbs would say hinky. He's not a good guy, that's all I'm sure of."

"Okay, Tim." Mike squeezed the younger man's shoulder. "You run down every record on that name. Go through the wallet, every hidden pocket. Check the business address, the credit card history, even the DMV. I want answers before I start interrogating, so get on it."

"On it, Boss. I'll be at my desk running background on Brooks, first name Jet." He signed out the evidence to maintain chain of custody. "Thanks, Boss."

Mike pulled in a breath, wondering about all of this. He knew he'd seen this guy before, maybe on a BOLO for the jewel theft ring. He knew he should probably call Fornell from the FBI in, but Franks didn't want to call in another agency, especially not someone like Fornell if he could avoid it.

But if this was a jewel thief, he'd learn what justice, Mike Franks style, was. "Tim, pull up the BOLOs and descriptions for the inter-agency jewel thief thing as well." Mike would have to deal with Morrow before he could join the investigation.

"Goin' up to MTAC level, brief the director." Mike looked at the elevator. "I'll take the stairs". It'd give him time to think…

Mike gave the pretty young assistant a smile and jerked his head toward the door. "He busy, Cynthia?" he asked, wishing he had a treat of some sort for the woman. The team didn't know it, but he kept some sample boxes of luxury chocolates in his desk. A satisfied and happy Cynthia was a compliant Cynthia, and a compliant Cynthia meant that Mike got his way.

And if DiNozzo knew the chocolate was there, he'd eat every damn box. And that'd mean Mike would have to kill his senior agent. Messy and not a good career move for either of them.

"No, Special Agent Franks. Let me buzz you in."

"If it makes you happy, Pretty Lady." Even though Mike had been counseled by HR on being an old-fashioned guy who sometimes called women endearments, Cynthia and his girls allowed him a lot of leeway.

"You flirt," Cynthia replied, but her eyes were extra bright. "Go on in. He'll see you."

It was good having a hands-on director like Tom Morrow, who could be expected to be at work until late in the evening,, especially if Morrow needed to smooth things over with other agencies. "Thanks, Sweetheart."

Mike strode in and nodded a greeting at Morrow. "May have a breakthrough, Tom, but you're gonna hate my methods. And I'm not sure we have a breakthrough on one of our cases." Mike wandered over to the liquor bottles in Morrow's office and half turned. "What're we drinking tonight?"

"Scotch. One ice." Hanging up the phone, Morrow closed the file in front of him and turned to face a man he considered one of his top agents. "All right, then read me in, Mike. What do you mean by your methods? And when have I ever condoned the methods you use?"

Mike poured Tom a Scotch with ice and his own neat before reclining in the chair in front of the desk. "I sent Abby undercover and she met some trouble with a capital T. Gussied her up and all since Ziva wasn't making any contact. Anyways Abby found a guy by the name of Jet Brooks. Looks military, silver hair, blue eyes. Forties. Can swear I've seen him before…"

Mike took a swallow of the liquid before he continued. "He got fresh and she stunned him. Team brought him in. Had two ceramic knives on him, military grade. Kids think he's not a part of our drug ring but brought him in anyway. Me? Think he looks like a gentleman mercenary. And I've seen him before, Tom. I know it. Could be part of that jewel thief ring FBI is running. Might be something more. And Abby's all shook up."

Mike didn't relish sharing the news that he was bringing Abby in to interrogation, that he was making her a very active part of the investigation. "Got Ziva babysitting him in interrogation, McGee running an ID check on him. DiNozzo's bringing Abby back."

Mike took another swallow, watching his boss. Tom had been his team leader a while back and they were good friends with a healthy respect for each other and their jobs, even though Mike admitted he couldn't be that political or diplomatic. But behind these closed doors, they were essentially equals. "What's on your mind, Tom?"

"Many things are on my mind, Mike. Not the least of which is how you chose to handle this operation. Why on earth would you send our best forensic scientist undercover? There are more female agents aside from Officer David. Surely one of them would have been more than equipped to handle the situation, before having to drag Abby into it. You put her in an unnecessary, risky situation. Was she hurt? You mentioned that she was shaken up, that the suspect got fresh with her. What in the hell does that mean?"

Morrow took a healthy drink from his glass, knowing he would need it and more before Mike's briefing was over. Franks was a great agent. But his general way of handling cases, of going by his gut and forgetting the rules, tended to make Morrow's job more difficult in the end.

"Nobody available. Cassie's on a long-term op. Cheryl is pregnant. Victoria just got married to some famous pretty-boy actor. Guy stars in a crime show, Tom. Couldn't make this crap up. Anna is a single mother, Lyn's husband just deployed, Annie's working with some folks at the Pentagon, Air Force joint op. I could have gotten Cynthia, but she isn't an agent. Abby was,. You know we weren't getting results from Ziva. We have to break this case, Tom. Before more people die. Been pussyfooting around for too long here."

He eyed the director for a moment. "What would you have done? Thrown DiNozzo in a dress?"

"I am not so sure that DiNozzo would not have enjoyed that. And you had no other options? If not, then I can understand your choice. But how did you prepare her? How did you get her ready for this op? To my knowledge, she has never worked undercover before."

"You tell me who, Tom. Time was of the essence. I had time to run Abby through weapons and self defense training and give her three days of in-depth undercover training. She was supposed to go to the party with McGee, mingle, separate herself, and get approached by our guy. And maybe she did, but my gut doesn't think so. Seen this guy before, Tom. Don't know where though. And it's bugging my gut. Older than a recent BOLO too. Might have collared him when I was working near Pendleton."

For some reason, Mike's mind was pulling him in that direction and he didn't understand why.

"Then find out where you know him from, Franks. Before you get too much farther in this investigation. If you do know him, if you've either worked with him or arrested him before, I need to know. And find out what's wrong with Abby. I can't have our girl off her game. It will affect too many cases and too much evidence if she is."

Setting his glass down on the desk, he finished their conversation. "Dismissed."

"McGee's chasing down leads, Abby'll chase down forensics. We'll figure it out." Mike finished his Scotch and nodded, walking out of the inner and outer offices with a wink to Cynthia.

Not wanting to go down to the main level yet, Mike took the elevator to the ground level, finding his favorite park bench and working over his memories. He remembered those eyes, burning in…not anger…pain? Set in a much younger man's face. But other than that, he didn't have anything solid to hang on to.

If they didn't get any answers tonight, tomorrow he'd go to records and see about then pulling his San Diego, Pendleton, and Lejeune era files. But hopefully they could break Brooks in interrogation first.

~*~

Down in the forensics lab, Abby made quick work of her evening wear, after turning up her music loud enough to vibrate the walls. Grabbing a short plaid skirt and one of her favorite t-shirts, a black one with a monkey one it, with kisses all over his face, she got dressed, feeling more herself. Brushing out the hairspray and curls from her hair, she pulled it into low ponytails. Checking her makeup, she decided to leave it. It worked, though it was a little more formal than she usually wore.

After hanging up her clothes and changing into some high platform boots, she went over to her computer and grabbed Bert. Giving him a big squeeze, comforted by the loud fart noise he gave her in response, Abby sighed. "What am I going to do, Bert? I've gotta go fingerprint him. And I'm scared all of a sudden. It would be so much easier to just have someone else do it. But it has to be me, and I have to see him." All Bert could do was fart in response.

Taking a deep breath, Abby put Bert aside and grabbed up her gear, her fingerprint kit and evidence bags. Shaking a little because her insides were overrun by a flock of butterflies, she made her way out of the lab, only stopping to pause her music.

The ride up in the elevator was excruciatingly long. But as soon as the bell rang for the interrogation floor, she realized it wasn't long enough. Walking through the hall, she spotted Ziva standing in front of one of the rooms.

"Hey, Ziva. Is he in there? I've gotta take his fingerprints," she said, almost resigned.

"Hello Abby. Are you well? Yes, he is inside. But you are not supposed to go in alone, are you? I believe Franks was quite clear on that," Ziva said, concerned.

"I'm fine, Ziva, really," she lied, even though she knew the Mossad officer would be able to tell. Sighing, she said, "Okay, no not really. But I will be. And Franks said I wasn't supposed to be along with him for the interrogation. He didn't say anything about the fingerprints." Which was stretching the truth a bit, but at this point, Abby didn't care.

Eyeing her suspiciously, Ziva said slowly, "Al lright, Abby. But if there is any trouble, any sound of distress, I am breaking this door down. Understood?"

Giving her a half hearted salute, she said, "Yes, ma'am." Opening the door quietly, she walked through.

Seeing him, seeing Jet, sitting there at the table, Abby felt her heart stop. The entire night came whooshing back and all she could do was stare. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, waiting.

He looked toward the door when it opened and fought to not show a visible reaction. The elegant woman from earlier now looked like a schoolgirl gone very bad. Very, very bad. He started at her boots and let his gaze slowly sweep upward to the pigtails that should have been ridiculous on a woman of her age but somehow suited her.

"The real Abby, I assume," he said, not bothering to hide his continued interest in her. "Suits you. That dress did too, though."

Finally moving her frozen body, Abby pushed off the door. Shifting her gear into her left hand, she held out her right. "Abby Sciuto, forensic scientist with NCIS." She was blushing under his gaze, feeling stripped down and bare under his knowing expression. For some reason, she felt that he saw her, the real Abby, despite the clothes and the collar.

"Jet. Whatever you want me to be," he replied, purposely not using his last name. "You here to take advantage of me, Abby." He motioned to the two-way glass. "Sure we have an audience this time but if you want another kiss…"

She wanted him to tell her, to be truthful to her. But Abby knew that in his situation, anything he might say, even to her, would put him at risk. "No, not here to take advantage of you," _at least not yet._ "I need to take your fingerprints."

Looking over at the two-way window, she said absently, "There is no audience. No one is recording or watching yet." Before she could comprehend what that meant, his hand on hers distracted that train of thought.

"Ziver is watching," he insisted, but didn't go beyond that.

Instead he clasped his hand in hers, squeezing it gently before his finger stroked over her palm. Before she could protest, he stood, looking down at her. "Don't regret what happened."

It could be taken two ways, an admission on his part or an order. That said, he sat down again. "DNA and fingerprints?"

When he rose in front of her, she whispered, "I don't, Jet. I don't think I could ever regret what happened." Before she could initiate the kiss she so desperately wanted, he sat down again. Sighing, she put down her kit and pulled out the equipment she needed.

"Just fingerprints, for now." DNA would come later, if Mike asked for it. She held out her hand for his again. When he placed it in hers, she stared at the hand for awhile, tracing the lines in his palm. Shaking herself out of the reverie, she started to fingerprint him, fighting off her imagination as images of what she wanted those hands and fingers to do to her body.

As those images flitted through her mind, she felt her body heat up as her need for him rose. As she fought against the need, she focused on concentrating on her evidence gathering. She knew, somehow, that this would be important. That finding out the truth would change the course of everything, the events of the day, even the direction her life was going.

He fought the urge to get up and just watched her. "Anyone giving you any crap? Told your friend, Ziver, to go easy on you. Anyone who doesn't answers to me. You tell me if they give you crap and I'll take care of it."

It was time he let the military man out and he knew the last thing he uttered sounded like an order. It was. A level of protectiveness he no longer thought himself capable of having rose up inside him.

"Ziver? Do you mean Ziva?" Normally, someone giving her orders like that would have set her off. Unless it had something to do with evidence, she didn't really like getting bossed around. But it was natural coming from him. And for reasons beyond her, she didn't care that he was ordering her around. It felt right somehow. Like, instead of him just being an Alpha male, he was _her_ Alpha male.

"Yeah, the dangerous one of your group." He watched her, noting how she was accepting to him even in body language. He still had a chance here as long as he didn't screw it up.

"If they have given me crap, it was my own fault. Nothing I haven't deserved."

"You're nobody's pawn," he finally said, steel in his tone.

She smiled when he called Ziva dangerous. Finishing up his first hand, she said, "She's really just a sweetheart. A big softie inside. If you want to get on her good side, give her chocolate. Or a new knife. That works too."

As she grabbed his second hand, she noticed the cuff still attached to his wrist. Twisting the cuff lightly to move it up his wrist, she asked softly, "Did you free yourself, or did Ziva let you go?" Remembering the comment Jet had made earlier about handcuffs, Abby blushed under his gaze.

"Freed myself." He causally took the pin out of the watch and opened the cuff, locked it, opened it again. "Three seconds if my hands are in front of me," he said both to Abby and Ziva. "Seven if they're behind my back."

He leaned in a little closer. "Ziva and I reached an understanding. We're not so different, Abby." That was as close to the truth as she'd get. What she knew could eventually hurt her and he wasn't letting that happen.

Shaking her head in exasperation, she said, "The cuffs did little good to restrain you, then, right? Poor Tony. I wouldn't mention that to him then. He might get a little bit hurt about it." When he got closer, she sucked in a quick breath, her body trembling suddenly at his proximity.

Knowing interrogation like she did, Abby knew that anyone in the bullpen or the director's office could click a button and see what was happening in the room. However, she also knew that the range did not extend to the area underneath the camera. And if he really wanted to kiss her again, she could take him there. But she still wasn't sure, wasn't sure he really wanted her.

Deciding she had to know what was happening between them, she put away the equipment, filed and signed the fingerprint cards. Taking a deep breath for courage, she looked at him. "If you still want to…" But she chickened out. She couldn't say it out loud, too unsure of herself as she was.

Instead, she walked over to the wall and leaned against it, crossing her arms under her chest. Stilling, she watched him, still trying to figure him out. "What do you want, Jet? Other than to be freed? Who are you?" she whispered.

He took a wet wipe out of her kit and cleaned off his hands, not knowing what she might make of that gesture. He watched her carefully, noting that she was directly under the camera and that the room appeared to be a single-camera configuration.

Jet stood, stalking closer to her, sighting his prey. "What do I want? You. Not worried about being freed. Safest place for me is here." Who was he? That was the clincher. "You know what they say 'if I told you I'd have to kill you?' Overly dramatic for my case, but the knowledge will put you in a bad position and I'm not letting that happen."

"You'll find out, when it is safe for you to know. And then, Abby, you'll understand." In her chunky-heeled boots, she was almost as tall as him. He moved in closer so that their chests were almost touching.

"Not stealing anything from you, not even a kiss. If you want to kiss me, you take the last step."

She was breathing a little rapidly now, her pulse fluttering at her throat. "I want you," he whispered recklessly. He refused to examine how stupid he was being and how he could be screwing everything up. All that mattered right now was them, in this moment.

When he went through her bag for the wipe, she raised her eyebrows at him, at his comfort level with her belongings. But when he got up and started tracking her, a predator after his prey, she lost track of anything else, her focus tightening to just Jet, her breath catching in chest.

"When it's safe?" she asked, her comprehension disappearing as well. As he stopped in front of her, her hands dropped to her side, her gaze drifting to his lips. It was to be her choice in the end, her decision. He left that to her, gave her the chance to change her mind. But she didn't want that, didn't need that. She needed, she wanted, him.

"That was what I said. When it is safe for you to know. Knowledge is power and power can be manipulated. I don't want anyone manipulating you, Abby. It wouldn't be right. And I'd lose my cool too damn fast and get us both into trouble." He sighed, watching her, frustration in his every jerky motion all of a sudden.

Despite the lack of understanding, despite not knowing what he was or, for that matter, who he really was, all Abby knew was that there was something between them, something that defied explanation. And she was quickly figuring out that she didn't care if she ever did. She may not know his name, may not know the past behind the man, but she knew him, knew the essence of the man. Her instincts screamed that she was safe with him. That regardless of how they met, Jet was a man to be trusted.

"Isn't that I want to be cryptic, Abby. I can't risk you being used…" His house of cards was falling around him, but for now, until it happened, he'd maintain his air of mystery. It was always possible they'd let him twist in the wind anyway.

"Guy like me doesn't have many friends…" He spoke the words quietly, almost sadly. It would have been nice to have had a circle of friends he could rely on to get him out of this mess, but the network of people he confided in was shady at best.

Reaching her hand up, she cupped his cheek softly, her thumb brushing over the fullness of his lower lip. Breathlessly, she said, "You didn't steal anything from me earlier, and you won't now. I want you, Jet." Pulling him in so that they were a hairsbreadth apart, she whispered, "I want you," before closing the gap.

He swallowed hard when she touched his face. He knew he had to be the strong one here but he couldn't be. For once in a very long time, he wanted to give in to something purely because he wanted it.

And then her mouth brushed his tentatively and his heart started beating more rapidly. She tasted sweet, some flavor he couldn't put a name to, her lips plump and pliant, and her breath mingling with his. He forced his eyes open for one second, studying her expression, before they shuttered closed again.

Jet pulled her close, one hand cupping her skull as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, his intensity and sense of urgency growing. Any minute they were going to be pulled apart by their circumstances and the way they were at opposite sides of the law.

But dammit, he wanted so much more. He pinned her against the wall there, pressing his body against hers, cupping her face in his hands now, her pigtails brushing over his fingertips, his tongue exploring every curve of her mouth. He was vaguely aware of the low groans he was emitting, sounds coming from his soul rather than this throat.

Sighing, Jet turned them around expertly so that he was against the wall and arching outward and she controlled the motion of their bodies. He didn't want her to feel forced or that she'd lost her free will.

For as long as she was kissing him, he felt completely whole.

When he had spoken of keeping her safe and his lack of friends, Abby felt her heart ache for the loneliness she heard in his voice. But before she could say anything, she felt him take over the kiss, dominating her space and her body with his own.

With his tongue teasing and torturing her, she gasped against his lips, her arms circling around his waist, pulling him in tightly against her. Though desire was slowly darkening her other senses, she was aware of a strange sense of peace in the core of her. A peace she'd never found anywhere else. A peace that she had been searching for. It was as if something that had been missing from her life, something vital to her survival, was unearthed in this unknown man, and she was whole again.

Suddenly, she was pinned by his body, her arms grasping at the cool wall behind her, unable to find purchase. She could feel the desire rising in him, the heat threatening to burn her if she got too close. But Abby loved danger, she craved that heat. Crying out his name, little moans escaping from her lips in between kisses, Abby arched against him, desperate to feel all of him.

Quickly, she found herself in reversed positions, with his back to the wall, her body pressing against his. Leaning back a bit, she cupped his face in between her hands, her lips only a whisper from his own, her eyes peering into his own blue. "You want me safe," she murmured, almost amazed that he would even be concerned with that.

"You're not alone anymore, Jet. You have me," she said, offering herself to him, a stranger, physically, but not a stranger emotionally. She knew it was crazy, irrational, probably stupid. Nothing about the entire situation was rational. But every atom, every molecule screamed that this was right, that this was where she needed to be.

He'd never heard anything as erotic as her forming his name into the most sensual words, bracketed by groans of desperate need. She had to know he needed her just as badly, his body throbbing and straining for hers, hips grinding against hers.

"Want you safe," he agreed, staring into her eyes. He _needed_ her safe, needed to know that she was protected if this went down in flames. The rest of 'em could fend for themselves but she had to be protected.

Even if it was from him.

"Don't know what you're offering," he replied, his voice tight, his emotions barely leashed. "Getting in over your head."

Even as he said the words and even as he knew that it was crazy, that he was setting her up to be used and destroyed, he nodded. "I have you," he whispered against her mouth, trying not to smile and let the giddiness get to him.

Eighteen years he'd gone without peace and this girl with her emerald eyes and ruby lips was gonna ruin him.

Or save him.

As his mouth captured hers again, his hand stroking over her face, he felt as if she was his home. "Mine?" he asked, a whispered plea.

When he pressed his hips to hers, she got light-headed from the sensation, the power she felt pulsating against her aching core. Pressing her forehead to his, she gasped for understanding, though, in the end, she really didn't expect it. The entire time, from the instant awareness of him struck her, Abby knew that she could never really expect anything again, at least not with him. Nothing about them made sense.

Jet was older than her, a stranger, a possible suspect in their current case. He was dangerous, addicting, dominating, all things that Abby was finding as necessary as breathing. Regardless of the warnings, regardless of the threat to her well-being, she was a moth to his flame, drawn despite her possible destruction. And even if her wings burned, she could have no more turned away than she could ever give up her Caf-Pow.

She'd tried that before. Didn't work. She knew when she was beaten. And now, Jet was her addiction, her drug. And, despite the cliché, he was as crucial as breathing, as necessary as Caf-Pow, and she wouldn't be able to give him up.

"I've been in over my head ever since your eyes slammed into mine, Jet. And I don't care." She took his hand and placed it over her heart, above her breast. "I don't need to know, because I feel. Right here. And in case you didn't know, for a scientist, that's a big deal. But that's me. I tend to go with my heart instead of my head. And my heart, my body is screaming for you. Despite the danger or the stupidity behind it, or maybe even because of it."

Her eyes closed against the sweetness of his touch against her face, against the burn of his sapphire eyes, overwhelmed finally by the impact of him. At the tenderness of him, she felt a single tear escape down her face. Giving up the final measure of control, she whispered, sealing her fate, "Yours."

"Won't hurt you," he promised, rasping the words out. "It'll make sense…have faith." He pulled back reluctantly, brushing the tear away and a wisp of hair back. "You know we can't do this here. Shouldn't…

As much as he loved this, he also hated this, hated that he had control over her. Hated that their bond had made her vulnerable. "We have to stop…for now. And whatever they tell you about me, listen here." He tapped her chest where she had rested his hand before withdrawing it.

"Look at me, look into my eyes. There is truth there…"

The temptation to tell her was overwhelming but he had to think of the endgame, of what it all meant. He was just a cog in a wheel here and other people's needs meant a lot more than him. Though at this moment…

"Whatever happens here, hang onto the truth in my eyes." He didn't know how they would play it when they got wind of it. Would they use him, would they sacrifice him without a second thought? If it meant their victory in the end, they damned sure would. It could go a lot of ways here and he had no control. Losing freedom was the least of his worries now.

He hadn't come so far and finally found someone worthy only to lose her because of his bad choices.

Looking into his eyes, emeralds to sapphires, Abby knew the truth, that no matter what happened next, no matter what was revealed, the only really truth was between them. That was the only truth that mattered. "I trust you, Jet, and I have faith in you, in us."

Pressing in for one more hard kiss, she dipped her head and stepped back, breaking the contact, despite how much her body ached for him. Standing straight, she looked at him, taking confidence from whatever it was between them, from the truth in his eyes.

~*~

Tony took the elevator up to the squad room, removing the cummerbund, tie, and designer blazer as he hit his desk. McGee was deep in thought staring at his computer screen and as Tony removed the cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves on his tux to mid-forearm, he walked over to the desk.

"Whatcha got, McMonkey Suit?"

"Nothing," Tim groaned, frustrated. "I've got nothing. There is nothing on Jet Brooks. No driver's license. No credit cards. No credit history of any kind. No social security. Nothing. There is no evidence here that says Jet Brooks even exists. It's a cover ID, Tony. I think 'Jet Brooks' isn't sitting in interrogation right now. Someone else is."

"You think so, McNerd?" Tony asked a little sarcastically. Anyone could have seen that coming. "He's what? At least forty. Run a criminal check on the name 'Jet', a wildcard search. And check military records databases too. That'll take a while, but at least we can tell Franks we're on it. Jet is a movie star name, not a real one. But he could be a John or Jason that is also known as Jet."

Or he could be Air Force or Naval Aviator and that could be a fighter jock nickname.

"Look up one of those name databases too, Probie. Find every male name in the top five hundred that have a 'Jet' anywhere in them. I'm gonna make some calls to my friends in Baltimore. See if they've ever heard of the name."

Nodding in agreement, Tim upped his search, expanding his search to include the criminal databases, federal databases, and any other database that would fit under his search radius. Adding height, weight, physical characteristics, age, and name, Tim kept typing as he waited for the results.

Tony made a couple of calls and shook his head. "Nothing on my end, Probie. What was that woman's name at the FBI? Cassie…what'shername. You know the one…" They'd worked with her last year and she was a lot less imposing than Fornell or even Ron Sacks. Maybe he could call her and see if she could tap into the FBI only databases.

Distracted, Tim wasn't really paying attention to what Tony was saying. Pounding away at the keys of his keyboard, he tried to speed up the data search, though he knew that there was little he could do to hurry up the search. Absently, he mumbled, "Uh huh."

"Probie!" Tony crossed the gap between the two desks and sat on the edge of McGee's, head slapping him. "What was her name? Cassie? Courtney? Help me out here. Maybe the Feebs have a file on this guy."

"Hey! What the heck, Tony? I'm trying to run my own searches over here. Do I have to do everything for you? Her name was Cassie. Gorgeous, actually." He sighed a bit, remembering her long legs. Though, in truth, not nearly as good as Ziva's. Banishing that thought quickly, he tried to return his focus to his work. Turning back to his computer, he kept at his search, knowing Franks would be by soon, demanding answers.

"Testy," Tony barked back. "You've been out of control tonight, McGee. Don't think Mike won't find out. You let that dirtbag get to you and that was stupid." Tony stalked back to his computer and located her name. "Courtney Krieger! Not Cassie at all, McCranky."

Tony fired off a text message to her.

"Pot. Kettle," Tim ground out. He hadn't been the only one testy and on edge all night. "You haven't exactly been in control, Tony. And if you found her name that easily, you could have just done it yourself, without the head slap."

"Was asking you a question, McNerd. Teamwork, remember, McLone Wolf." Tony came around and sat on the edge of McGee's desk. "Searches are running. Want to tell me what is going on. You assaulted him and we can't even make a case that it was accidental. Not like you, Probie. What about him gets so deep under your skin?"

"Wasn't the question, Tony, it was the interruption." Finishing the protocols needed, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing Tony. "You can't tell me that guy didn't get under your skin, not after your reaction, not after seeing Abby. You're just pissed it wasn't you that had that gun to his gut."

"Not that pissed, Probie. Pissed enough to knock his head against the wall but not pissed enough to almost pull the trigger. You were more out of control than I've ever seen you. Before I report everything that happened to Mike, tell me why." So that I can protect you and have your back. Tony silently added.

"You saw Abby, and you have to ask?" McGee pouted. He didn't understand why Tony was suddenly all concerned about the suspect.

"Yeah I did. And she was shaken up, Tim, but it isn't like he raped her or anything. I'm ticked at him; I'm not pulling my gun on him. You still hoping to knock it with Abbs, McProbster?"

Rolling his eyes, he only answered with a "humpf." His feelings regarding Abby were no one's business but his own.

"Fine," Tony muttered, looking over at the screen, not leaving McGee's desk yet. "What's your theory here, Probie? What did he do with Abby and who is he?"

"My theory is that he's not who we think he is. I think he's a criminal, but probably not drugs. Something more…sophisticated. His name is definitely a fake since nothing is coming up to identify him. It's very…hinky." As for what he did with or to Abby, Tim didn't want to think about that.

"Yeah, hinky," Tony agreed, sighing.

~*~

In a dim office, a screen popped up a warning and then text messaged the computer's owner. He was doing paperwork and turned to his screen, eyes widening in horrified shock. NCIS was poking around for information on Jet Brooks. This was bad. Very bad. He'd have to wait and see but if any more alarm bells went off, Brooks would have to be contained.

By any means necessary…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ducky and Palmer had been working on a terrible case, the body of a man who had been on oxygen for a lung condition who lit a cigarette anyway. It had been a grisly task, but Ducky had been honor bound to make sure there wasn't any foul play involved.

After an arduous day, he stretched his back and nodded to Mr. Palmer. "You've had a very long day. Why don't you go home? I'm going to check in with the director and do the same."

"All right, Doctor. I will finish up in here. You have a good evening." Jimmy grabbed his headphones, but waited for Ducky in case the doctor had any other instructions, before he would put them in.

"And you too, Mr. Palmer. I'll expect you after your classes tomorrow then. Do drive carefully, dear boy."

"I will, Doctor Mallard. Have a good evening," he said in farewell. Turning around, Jimmy put the earplugs in and set to work.

Ducky nodded and then began closing up shop himself. The remains had been stowed away by Mr. Palmer earlier and Ducky was just left with a final disinfecting wipe down then a thorough hand washing. He'd update the director and then come back down here to collect his coat and hat before returning home. Perhaps he'd dine at the nice French restaurant in Arlington that had opened up recently. Right now going home held little appeal.

Ever since Mother had gone into the home, the house in Reston seemed too oppressive. Ducky had his bridge nights and social engagements but it wasn't the same as sitting at home with a medical journal and a glass of Scotch, his mother slumbering away in another room. He wondered if he might persuade Mike Franks to come over. Mike would no doubt wish to play poker and drink whiskey but he was quite a genial and amusing fellow, even if Ducky wouldn't call him friend.

Ducky hummed "Scotland the Brave" as he reached the elevator and rode it up, knocking courteously on the outer door before nodding at Cynthia, who motioned him to the other door. "Director?"

Looking up from his desk, Morrow waved him in. Gesturing to the chair across the desk from him, he said, "Come on in, Ducky. What can I do for you? There seems to be something on your mind."

"Terrible situation, Director. Major Vargas simply needed that nicotine so badly he risked expiring in a most explosive fashion. I'm afraid there was nothing that could have been done and the hospital personnel were not at fault. You'll have my report on your desk come morning."

"I will make a note of that, Ducky. The staff at Bethesda has enough to deal with when it comes to NCIS. I'd rather have to flex the strength of this agency when and where it's more greatly needed, not when a Navy officer can't follow a few rules in regards to safety."

Ducky leaned in close, watching Director Morrow's face. "Is something the matter? You seem very concerned about something. Are all of our men and women unharmed or am I needed somewhere?"

Shaking his head, Director Morrow sighed, "No, Doctor. Our men and women are safe, for the moment. Unfortunately, Franks made some rushed decisions on his most recent op that put Abby in jeopardy. I am finding his recklessness more tiring with each case. Though sometimes I wonder if it's his actions, or the fact I'm aging, Ducky," he said, trying, poorly, to make light of how disturbed he was at the situation downstairs.

Of his entire staff, of the entire agency, Abby Sciuto was the most special, the one who, despite her dark looks, brightened up most situations with simply her personality. And the fact that Franks would use her with almost no regard to her safety, weighed heavily on the director.

"Abby is in jeopardy?" Ducky started to rise but restrained himself. "What happened? Do I need to tend to her? Is she harmed?" Ducky wanted to ask a lot more but he held himself in check—barely. This was Abigail here and she was most special to them all.

"From what I can gather from Franks, she's not in jeopardy physically, but probably emotionally. Seems she had something happen to her when they were alone. She's shaken up, but not hurt. Might be a good idea to head down to her lab before you leave, to check on her. She trusts you like family, Ducky. She may need you now."

"They who, Director? She and Mike?" Ducky knew Mike was a brash individual, but he thought the world of Abby—they all did. "If you can provide me with more details, I'll know how best to approach the dear girl. Wasn't Mike's team going to some sort of charity event in the hopes of bringing their case to an end?"

So much of this didn't make sense. Ducky wondered if the dear girl might care for some French food and the pleasure of his company.

"Abby and the suspect, Jet Brooks. I think it's better for you to talk to Abby about what happened. My only version has come from Franks and you know how he is about Abby." Shaking his head, Morrow said, "She'll probably just need you to listen or even to just be there for her."

"Abby and a suspect? Oh dear me. I'll see to her right away, Director." Ducky nodded, standing as swiftly as his old bones would allow. "I'll bid you good evening, sir. Would you like me to check in after I've spoken with Abigail?"

"Unless there's a problem or a situation you think I need to handle tonight, I see no reason to. Just make sure Abby is okay. Good night, Ducky, and thank you."

Ducky nodded and hurried out.

~*~

Mike smoked two cigarettes the whole way down before entering the building again and taking the elevator up to the squad room. He'd check and see how their guest was doing and then see what the boys had for him. The dirtbag could cool his heels for a while.

Mike opened the door to the observation room, catching sight of Ziva standing guard outside of Interrogation. "Everything okay, Ziva?"

Seeing Mike approach down the hall, Ziva tapped twice on the door to interrogation, hiding her action with her body. She didn't know what was going on in there, though she could hear murmuring and movement inside. But knowing Abby as she did, trusting the girl to call for help if she needed it, Ziva was confident to stay outside.

"Everything is fine, Mike." Preparing for an outburst, she added, "Abby is in there with him, taking prints."

"Alone?" Mike asked, eyebrows shooting up. "She isn't to be alone with him, Ziva! Why did you allow that. ABBY!"

"Mike, she's perfectly safe…" But he wasn't listening to her and was already charging into interrogation.

Hearing the knocks, Abby looked to the door in shock. "Ziva," she whispered in worry. Not worry for herself, she couldn't believe Mike or Tony would ever really get mad at her, and would never hurt her – and Tim never fit into an equation like that anyhow. Her worry was for Jet and what they would do to him.

Looking back at Jet in almost panic, she whispered, "Get back in your chair and put those cuffs back on, or both Ziva and I will get it. And you…" She let that hang in the air. Straightening her hair and clothes, she turned from him.

Scrambling back to her kit, she pretended to be putting her stuff away, though it was already secured. She could only hope, for his sake, Jet was following her suggestion.

Jet responded to the urgency in her voice by sitting down and refastening the cuffs, just as a man rushed in.

"Abby!" Mike glared at her and then stared down the dirtbag. "What the hell you doing printing him alone?" He turned his rage and fury on the dirtbag, grabbing a fistful of the designer tux shirt and lifting him out of his chair before slamming him back down so hard something thumped audibly.

With fury rising as the dirtbag didn't react or look intimidated, Mike socked him once in the jaw, making his head snap back and almost knocking him off the chair. He would have gone flying if Mike hadn't been holding his shirt. "That was for terrifyin' her. There's more where that came from when this room is dark. Watch your back, dirtbag. Jet. Whatever the hell your real name is."

Right fist impacted left side of jaw and cheekbone now and the dirtbag went flying out of the chair, slamming his head into the corner of the table before he crashed onto the ground. "And that's for whatever you're thinkin' now. You wanna keep pushing me, do it 'cause these boots were made for kicking."

Mike knew he had to rein himself in. The bruises could be explained by a bad van ride here, but more than the couple and there would be trouble. Tommy let him get away with a lot but doing more than roughing up a prisoner a little would cause problems. And Abby was a witness… Least the room was dark.

Mike turned to look at Abby. "What the hell ya doing in here? You got a death wish?"

"Mike!" Abby screamed, "What are you doing?" Pulling his shirt, she turned Mike around and shoved him on the chest, away from Jet.

Dodging past him, she fell on the ground beside Jet. He was unconscious now from the double impact on his face and head. Pulling his head onto her lap, she turned on Mike. "I was doing my job, Franks. And he didn't do a thing to me. I wasn't terrified. I wasn't injured. I'm perfectly fine. He was a gentleman and treated me like a lady. He did nothing. But you...you…"

Gesturing at the door, she yelled, "You come in here, a barbarian and punch a handcuffed suspect, someone who is supposed to be protected by you! Innocent until proven guilty, remember? Or does your rage let everything else fall to the wayside? What the hell is going on with you?"

"Jet, Jet? God, Jet. Are you okay? Please wake up." Calling out, she yelled, "Ziva? Ziva!"

Busting in, she took in the situation with one glance and put herself between Franks and the two on the ground. "What happened here?"

"Never question me!" Mike raged "You don't know, Girlie! Don't you question me!" Mike looked at Ziva. "Nothing happened. He looked threatening, I had to subdue him. Not my fault he clocked himself when I was restraining him."

Mike didn't like the accusatory looks on by Abby's and Ziva's faces. Pissed him off. "He's a dirtbag. A pretty dirtbag in nice clothes, but still a dirtbag." Mike rounded on Abby now. "Get the hell away from him. He's a suspect. You aren't to touch him. And you never question me, Girlie, or I'll have Morrow reassign you so far away your little tattooed neck'll spin."

"What are you going to do, Franks? Hit me too?" Abby threw out, accusations painted over her face. She knew what she said wasn't fair, but Mike was out of control. She'd never seen him like this before. "He was in handcuffs, seated. How in the world is that threatening?"

Shaking with anger, she bit back sarcastically, "Yeah, really easy to do, hit yourself in cuffs and leave those kind of bruises. Gotta try that sometime."

Mike glared at her, furious, angry beyond reason. "Don't ever question my methods. He was threatening, Sciuto. I know dirtbags and I've run into him before." He had to be a bad guy. Mike had the impression of drugs, of a murder. He growled up, glaring at Abby.

"Your prince charming is a frog."

"I can and will question your methods, Franks, if those methods are lacking, if they're illegal, if they're reprehensible." Meeting him glare to glare, she shot back, "Then it's a good thing I prefer frogs to princes."

"Kissing frogs is gonna get you warts, Abby," Mike growled.

Abby laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "You can't get warts from frogs, not even from kissing them."

Jet shook off his grogginess and aching jaw, blinking eyes open. He took in the situation immediately and moved out of Abby's touch. He wasn't going to put her in a more awkward position.

Sure was different being on the other side of justice, Special Agent Franks's style.

Jet looked at Abby, willing her to relax. "I'm okay," he told her in a gentle voice, barely resisting the urge to touch her, to reassure her in some way. His head and face were aching and he was incredibly dizzy but he knew that would pass.

Hearing him reassure her that he was conscious and okay as much as he could be, Abby stood up and confronted Mike, something she never thought she'd have to do. "You can try and reassign me, Franks, but you and I both know I'm the best forensic scientist NCIS has, and there's no way the Director would let me leave. And you," she continued, poking him in the chest, "don't get to tell me what to do. I went undercover, for you. I don't have a tat on my neck anymore, for you. I had it removed for the op, your op. I put myself out there, for you, no one else. I wouldn't have done that for anyone else. I can touch whoever, when ever I want. You have no say. You just lost the right to give me orders or advice."

Watching frozen because of her boss' behavior, Ziva moved next to Abby, standing beside her friend, lending silent support. Though she was the assassin, the killer, even _she_ was shocked that he reacted with such explosive violence.

Jet took in everything, the fact that her job was threatened, the fact that he'd been in Abby's face and barely resisted the urge to get combative with the man. But he knew that things would get much more explosive.

When Ziva moved up next to Abby, Jet nodded slightly, offering what thanks he could. He was pretty powerless here and he had to tread carefully, even though every instinct screamed to knock Franks' block off. He made a conscious decision to stay quiet, for Abby's sake. If she caught his eye, he'd sign something for her.

Ziva moved her head in agreement, a moment of understanding between two people on opposite sides of the line. Though she was on the side of investigating him, she knew that a connection like they had was rare, much like what she had with Tony and Tim.

"You are out of line, Franks. And now you're putting your investigation at risk because you can't control yourself. I'm not going to let you near him again, do you understand me? Not unless someone is there who I can trust will stop you from beating a man who cannot defend himself."

"Are you on the side of justice or not, Ziva?" Mike thundered. "Because you can remove yourself from this case and this investigation if you're sympathetic toward him too." Mike glared at the man.

"You're gonna pay, Jet Brooks. You're gonna pay in flesh and blood."

"I am on the side of justice and honor, Mike. What side are you on? Why are you behaving as if he assaulted Abby? I was right there. I was outside of the door. If anything was happening, I would have heard; I would have protected her."

Interrupting her, Abby shot out, "If you touch a hair on him, Mike Franks, I will go to the director with this. I will protect him with everything I have, everything I am. If you thought my behavior pissed you off before, you wait to see how I am now. Your behavior is reprehensible. I love you, Mike, you are like my family. But right now, you disgust me."

"Not going to pay for anything," Jet shot back. "Don't know what kind of case you're trying to prove, but you'll be disappointed." Jet was trying like hell to keep his cool but he was sick and tired of being treated like he wasn't even in the room.

"Stand down, Abby! I can defend and protect myself!" Jet spoke the words as a clear order, knowing Franks was locked on him.

She turned quickly to him, hurt shadowing her eyes. "I will not. Not until this is over." Abby knew how men were, all tough and independent. But there was nothing like a woman in the face of a wrongdoing, in the instance of cruelty. And her boss, her friend was the essence of that.

"It's okay," he said, trying to soothe her, his voice softening. "I can handle myself, Abby. Even in this situation…" Maybe not so true but his ego wouldn't let him say anything else.

"Maybe so, but handcuffed and beaten, you may not present the best defense right now. And verbally…I can hold my own. I'm not belittling you, Jet. Just standing up for you."

He nodded curtly, not trusting himself to say another word yet. He'd made her too much of a target already. Hoping that she could read the intent in his eyes, he could only meet her gaze head on, deliberately turning away from Frank's stare.

She and Ziva were the only ones at this point who knew Jet could get out of his restraints. And technically he could get out of his cuffs to defend himself. But Mike didn't know that. Mike still attacked a suspect who hadn't done anything.

What was almost worse for Abby was the lying, Mike's attempts to cover up his actions by saying that Jet had assaulted her, that he had hit himself. The more he said things like that lowered Mike in her eyes.

Meeting Jet's gaze, she let him know that she was aware of his concerns, that she understood wanting to stand up for yourself. But she needed him to understand that this was who she was. Abby was the person who fought for her friends and the people she cared about.

Jet hoped Franks didn't connect the dots yet, but it was clear there was some flicker of recognition there. It would be very unpleasant if Jet let his past come back like this. If it had to come out eventually, much better to do it under controlled circumstances.

"Military man. I knew it," Mike said, glad to have something to hang on to, a shred of evidence he could run. "You're going down, Dirtbag." He turned away now, his eyes boring into Abby's. "If you're disgusted, then go back to your ivory tower, Forensic Scientist. Being a special agent isn't for anyone who has a weak stomach, like you do."

Even though Mike knew he'd gone too far, he was not going to back down in front of the suspect.

"Mike," Abby gasped, hurt as he turned on her now. Straightening up her spine, raising her chin in defiance much like she had with Jet earlier, she replied, "I will go to my…ivory tower when I can trust the suspect won't be harmed or persecuted unjustly. You are losing your honor, Special Agent."

"And you're losing your objectivity, Girlie."

"Don't insult her," Jet growled. "Call her by her name."

"Shut up, Dirtbag" Mike shot back.

"You lost your objectivity the moment you entered the room, Franks. So I wouldn't be judging me."

"Hope you have someone a little more objective to question me," Jet couldn't resist saying.

"Shut up," Mike growled, storming out. Only when he was gone did Jet slowly get up and move back to the chair, trying not to show any weakness to these women he'd formed very different bonds with.

Glaring after Mike as he shut the door, Abby released a breath she hadn't know she'd been holding. Turning back to Jet with tears in her eyes, she knelt alongside of him, caressing his cheek. Seeing the darkening bruises on his face, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay? I'm so sorry. I don't know why he reacted that way."

Ziva waited quietly, not willing to let them alone for fear of Mike returning. Despite his ability to free himself, Ziva was concerned that Jet would not have the time to protect himself from another attack. And not even Abby would be able to stop a raging Franks.

"I'm fine, really," he promised, nudging closer with his aching face, enjoying her touch even though the circumstances were less than ideal. He'd take what he could right now. To say things were going to hell was an understatement. He was seriously worried about her and completely furious. Her boss had willingly put her in harm's way when it sounded like she was completely unprepared for the aspects of an undercover op. It was pure luck she'd run into him rather than someone with more nefarious plans.

She could see the fury bubbling behind the surface of his eyes. Rubbing her thumb lightly over his abused skin, all Abby wanted to do was pull him to her, to comfort him with everything she had. Tears choking her voice, she said, "I'm so sorry, Jet. This is all my fault. I should never have come to you by myself. But I just needed to see you. I needed to…And now…" She couldn't finish what she wanted to say, as upset as she was now.

He took her hand and signed the letters of her name over her palm and then his assumed first name as well, blocking what he was doing from Ziva and letting Abby know that he knew sign language.

"Don't apologize. Sign of…" He shook his head. That had been one of his lines for a long time but he wouldn't finish it. "I needed to see and kiss you too. I had to know it was for real. So did you. And now we know. And we'll get through this."

She drew in a breath quickly, breathing out his name, "Jet," her heart skipping a beat as she realized that he could understand her, in more ways than she could have ever hoped. No one had ever been able to talk to her in that way, to share a part of her. And now, a complete stranger, someone who shook her to her very core, was a part of that too.

"What do I do now, Jet? What do we do? This is real, whatever this is between us. I don't regret us, don't regret finding you." She turned over his palm, signing their names and words like together, need, longing.

"No regrets," he agreed, trying to follow the flow of her signed words through his dizziness. "You let me be questioned. You have that faith you promised me you would. I'll make it be okay."

_Trust me,_ he signed, tracing the words onto her hand. _Not a criminal. Not bad. Just hold on for me and you'll see._

When he was done, he let his head drop slightly, the shock of being hit so hard causing his muscles to ache.

"I trust you," she whispered. Getting up, she pulled the other chair from across the table and set it next to him. Sitting close, she pulled him toward her, saying, "You can lean on me until you've got your head together."

His eyes softening now, he regarded her with a gentle smile. "I'll be fine. Been hit a lot harder and come out okay." The dizziness was at its worst but would fade soon.

"Maybe you will be, but you're not now. When that happens you can be all tough. But for now, you can lean on me."

Before truly working out what he was saying, he spoke. "Wasn't like this last time Franks and I met…"

Hearing what the man said, Ziva asked in confusion, "The last time you met? Do you mean to say that you have had interaction with Mike before? You know him?" If that was true, it added a whole new layer to the dramatic events of the day.

He blinked a couple of times, nodding just once, even though that action made him nauseous and more dizzy. "Not explaining anything though. He hasn't done anything that deserves my compliance."

He wondered if they'd note that he hadn't requested a lawyer yet.

"Understandable, Brooks. Quite understandable."

"Not cooperating with him. Nothing personal, Ziva. You and Abby…have no beef with you, but Franks burned some bridges."

"No offense taken, Brooks. You are still under investigation, though only cursory at the moment. Keep what you need to protect yourself."

Though it was rare of him to do, especially in this situation, he uttered a quiet, "Thanks."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mike stormed over to DiNozzo, poking him hard in the chest. "What are ya, useless? While you two are sitting out here, Abby was printing him in there_ alone_. What the hell ya thinking, both of ya?"

He turned his fury on McGee now. "Don't you think you wormed your way out of this because you're the probie, McGee. Tell me why I shouldn't fire both your sorry asses?"

"Boss?" McGee asked confused. Standing up, he tried to take in the situation. "You mean, Abby went to him, alone? What was she thinking? Is she okay?" Tim had rarely ever seen Mike this angry, which made his alarms go off in worry for Abby.

Tony blinked a few times in absolute shock, edging closer to McGee and standing slightly in front of him, even though he knew he couldn't protect either of them from Mike's wrath.

"Because we're doing our best work, Boss. Probie's running like twelve different searches and I've been in contact with a couple of agencies. We're doing our best."

Mike got right in their personal space. "Yeah, Abby went to him, alone! You were supposed to watch her, DiNozzo. And McGee, I don't know what the hell use you are beside the computer work."

A bit shocked at Tony defending him, Tim moved alongside of him, intending on standing ground as equals. "Boss, she's not a child to babysit. She knew she was supposed to come get Tony when it was time for the interrogation. If she went to him alone, it wasn't because we weren't doing our job."

"She isn't clear headed," Mike shot back. "And you two are supposed to look out for all the team! What if he raped her in interrogation? What then, McGee?"

He hadn't, Tony knew that. Mike had some kind of agenda with the guy and was trying to rally the troops for his side. "Then he'd be dead, Mike," Tony shot back evenly. "Isn't Ziva with him there?" Suspects were always guarded so that they didn't leave interrogation.

"We were doing our jobs, Mike, what you asked us to do. Abby knows how to protect herself. And if Ziva is there, she wasn't in danger. Ziva is more observant than any of us." Despite Tim's dislike of the suspect, he finally realized that Abby hadn't been in any danger, at least physically.

"And she's under the dirtbag's spell too," Mike growled. "They put all the old case files onto the computers, McGee? I've dealt with Brooks before. Think it was a drug running case in California. Fifteen maybe twenty years ago. People died, woman, kid, couple guys. Killed one of our agents. Find me the answers. Wanna know who we're dealing with"

That was all that Mike could remember about the case and it pissed him off.

"Maybe he is involved in the drugs ring," Tony replied quietly. If he'd killed an NIS agent, all bets were off and Tony could see why Mike was completely out of control.

Finding it incredibly difficult to believe that Ziva could be under anyone's spell, Tim went back to his desk with an, "On it, Boss." Seeing a few of his searches had returned nothing, Tim closed them out to give him the space he needed to pull up old case files.

"If he's that dirtbag, Mike, we'll nail him," Tony promised, sighing when Mike just grunted and walked to the window, looking out over the Anacostia. Tony perched on the edge of McGee's desk. "Intense, Probie…intense."

"My reaction seems pale in comparison to that now, huh? But it does put some things in perspective. What is it about this guy that sets us off?"

Tony squeezed Tim's shoulder. "Maybe because we know he took down one of our own," Tony said faintly. If that was the case, they might have sensed it. "Or maybe because he's an arrogant SOB who screwed with Abbs somehow, Probie. We're all overprotective of her."

"Do you really think that the man in interrogation is really the drug dealer we're after? I mean, I guess there's still a possibility. But it just doesn't seem feasible now. Abby's got bad taste, but she usually figures out when a guy she's attracted to doesn't have all the crayons in his box."

"I don't know." Tony admitted as honestly as he could. "I think he's someone to be concerned and wary about, especially when you consider that he was packing those knives. But I don't know where that leaves any of us. Who he is, what he wants from Abbs…I just don't know, McGee. We need answers. Now."

"Yeah, but if we panicked at everyone who was packing, we'd be freaked about Ziva all the time. Who knows, really, how many weapons she has on her? And I know we need answers, Tony. I'm just waiting on my searches to kick up something."

"But McGee, who packs knives like that for a black tie benefit. It's very True Lies or Mission Impossible, or Bond, and I don't want Abbs wrapped up in an action movie. We have enough danger around us to begin with."

"Any one of us. Ziva, You, Someone" Tim countered, finding it ironic that they had switched positions on the issue. "I'd rather have her in an action movie than the freaky, Halloween murder movies she's been in lately."

Tony nodded. "But he isn't us, McGee. He's not an agent on an op. He's a predator with two military-grade ceramic knives. He's more Bolfeld than Bond." That was the difference. If he'd been an agent and flashed a shield…well…

Tony gave McGee a little smirk. "Bet you didn't expect to be defending him." It was all a part of making McGee see all sides. Even though he knew that Mike was the training agent, Tony couldn't help but try to move things along for the probie. Some day, he'd be team leader and wanted McGee as _his_ senior field agent.

"Humpf," was all Tim would say, knowing Tony had done that on purpose. "Playing devil's advocate, Tony? Okay, how 'bout this? What if he's not a predator? What if he…nah, that's too farfetched."

"What if he what. McGee? He's not one of us. If he was, he would have flashed a badge. Even an undercover guy would have done that before landing in interrogation. So, what? What are you thinking?" But Tony knew if someone was far under, they wouldn't even carry a shield.

This was what Tony lived for. Debating ideas and theories was one of his favorite things to do and in this case, it had been all figuring out about his relationship with Abby and no figuring out the ins and outs of who he was and why he was at the party in the first place.

"What if he's undercover? Or maybe he really is a dirtbag, but with an agency too? I don't know, Tony. It just all seems really hinky. What do you think?"

"I think he would have told us, don't you?" Tony asked, swallowing hard. Problem was that McGee's theory made too much sense. "He would have asked to call someone, McGee. Not let himself be pulled in. Unless they were investigating us, which would make no sense."

But the more Tony thought about it, the more sense it made. "Hope he's not an agent," he said quietly. "I bashed his head against the wall."

"Yeah, and I shoved a gun into his gut. If he is investigating us, we're screwed, Tony." They could both be in a lot of trouble and soon. And all for Abby. But he'd do it again. It was Abby.

"Hell, Tim. I wasn't even thinking that." Tony squeezed McGee's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Probie. I'll take the fall if it comes to that. We can make a case for defending Abby. Anyone who knows us and the agency will understand. And Morrow thinks of her as a daughter or a little sister. He would understand even if he doesn't approve."

"I wouldn't let you do that, Tony. But thank you for the thought. If it goes down that way, it's all or nothing. No one'll take the fall for the others. It's wrong, isn't it, that I hope he is the scumbag we pegged him originally? Would kinda make things simpler all around, though maybe not for Abby." In reality, Tim would hate having a man imprisoned for the wrong crime. But he would also hate to see him and his friends endure disciplinary actions.

"No, I hope so too, Tim," Tony said, uncharacteristically quiet now. "Let's get back to work."

~*~

There was some sort of commotion going on at McGee's desk and Ducky moved beyond it. He'd had Cynthia ring Abby's lab and there was no answer. She'd also tried Autopsy at his insistence, but nobody had picked up there. Ducky had a sneaking suspicion that he needed to check the interrogation areas. He walked into the observation room and looked inside the first room, seeing Abby and Ziva and a cuffed suspect. He turned on the microphone. "Ladies? Anything I can assist you with?" Feeling they needed him, he moved out of the observation room and into the doorway of the interrogation room.

"Ducky!" Abby exclaimed, running to him. Hugging him tightly, she asked, "Can you check Jet out? Ducky…Franks attacked him, a restrained man in our custody." Abby still couldn't bring herself to say Mike'shis first name. "Can you please make sure he's okay?" she asked, as she pulled her friend closer. "Jet, this is Doctor Mallard. Ducky this is Jet Brooks."

Ducky looked between Abby and Ziva. "Tell me what happened, ladies." He was concerned that they might implicate Mike in front of the suspect.

"Doctor," Jet said quietly.

"Check him out first, Ducky. Then we'll tell you what happened."

Very aware that he was the suspect in some event, Ducky didn't extend a hand. "Sit still for me, Mr. Brooks," he said brusquely. "Might I assume, Abigail, that this unfortunate mess has something to do with the sudden and unexpected removal of your tattoo?"

Ducky slipped on some gloves and tilted the man's face to and fro, gently palpating the swelling skin and then looking into his eyes, fingers brushing over a bruise at his temple as well. "You've struck your head, haven't you? I think you may have a slight concussion. Nothing to be concerned about in most cases. Someone must keep an eye on him at all times, though. Watch for altered states of consciousness, dizziness, sudden drowsiness, lack of inhibitions. And if you have a sudden or severe headache, you must alert someone immediately."

Ducky stripped off the gloves and looked from Abby to Ziva. "This quite reminds me of a time when I was a lad, working with…" The two women weren't at all indulgent at the present time and he nodded. "Ah, very well then… Explain to me the circumstances behind this."

Leaving Abby to fuss over Jet, Ziva pulled Ducky to the side and gave a brief description of the events. "Abby had her spiderweb tattoo removed from her neck at Mike's request. He put her in an undercover investigation. There are many aspects of the op that I cannot go into details about yet. Needless to say, Abby got caught up in it, met him, Jet Brooks, and now has some sort of connection with him, an attraction you could say. I am unsure of all the parts leading up to the events just now.

"What I do know is that Abby came to interrogation, alone, to take his prints. I was standing guard outside. When Mike came to begin the interrogation, I assume, he became overcome with rage and attacked Brooks, who was restrained sitting at the table." As far as Ziva knew, he had removed the cuffs, but appeared to have redone them before Franks burst in.

"He struck Brooks twice, knocking him to the floor, unconscious. When Abby tried to protect the suspect, Mike threatened her, threatened to have her transferred, threatened the suspect. He was quite out of control, Ducky. I went to protect Abby by standing by her side, which only seemed to enrage him further."

"Attraction," Ducky said, milling over the term. It explained why Abigail was hovering over the man, taking his hand in hers. "Mike attacked him just like that? Ziva, have you any idea what might have provoked him?"

Taking a deep breath, Ziva admitted, "Ducky, I do not know what to do now. Franks was unstable, his anger making him irrational and violent. There was something else that drove him, and I do not understand what."

Mike was a bit high strung at times, could be a bit of a loose cannon but Ducky had never in their many years working together seen Franks strike out at a suspect unless the suspect struck first.

"The suspect was cuffed, Ducky. When Mike barged into the room, Brooks was cuffed and seated quietly with Abby putting her fingerprinting equipment away. Other than being upset with Abby alone with him, there was no provocation."

Ducky nodded, sighing. "Could Franks have perhaps gotten some information that ties him into another case? Could he have been reacting because of some information that he hasn't yet shared perhaps?"

"If he did, he has yet to share the information with the team, Ducky. At least with this part of the team. He kept calling out for the suspect's blood, almost as if Brooks had raped Abby. Which you can tell is not the case."

"No…no, definitely not that. She seems quite relaxed and content to be in his presence, Ziva." Ducky had to admit that. Abby looked calmer with the silver-haired stranger. "And what are your impressions of both the man and this development, my dear?"

"Ducky, I cannot understand the connection between Abby and Brooks. I have no basis of experience to compare with it. However, he appears to be an honorable man, who wants to protect Abby, even perhaps from herself. Other than the unexplainable connection and a bit of a smart mouth, he has done nothing to warrant the treatment he has received."

Ducky nodded, pulling in a deep breath. What he had to say would likely cause even more problems for the dear girl in the short term. "Ziva, as a witness to this event, you need to speak to the director immediately. Mike may have completely compromised your case against Abigail's new friend."

"I will not leave Abby's side, Ducky. Not after Mike threatened her like that. The director will have to come down here. Could you bring him, Ducky?"

"Of course I can, my dear," Ducky said, kissing Ziva's cheek. "Back in a jiffy then. Abigail, I trust you and Mr. Brooks will not come to any harm if I'm gone for a few minutes?"

"Not at all. I have my Mossad assassin to protect us," she tried for some levity to lighten the worrisome mood that had settled over them.

Ducky nodded. "Very well, then. Mr. Brooks, please tell the ladies if you feel poorly. I'll be back shortly."

Jet gave the older man a slight nod, unwilling to thank him verbally.

"Thank you, Ducky," Abby said, smiling at him. A thought suddenly popped into her mind just then. "Ducky, is he going to need ice or aspirin or something?"

"Well, ice or an anti-inflammatory won't hurt, my dear. I'll bring both back when I return. I need to duck out for a moment." He gave Abby a tender, almost paternal smile. "You'll be all right while I'm gone, won't you?"

"Yes, Ducky. We'll be fine." Getting up, she ran to him to give her old friend a tight hug. "Thanks, Duckman." Holding him away from her, she smiled in thanks and went back to Jet.

"Most welcome, Abigail. Ziva…" Ducky nodded, knowing he didn't need to ask her to hold down the fort. It was what Ziva did astoundingly well. With that said, he left the interrogation room, knowing his might was about to get much more complicated and unpleasant.

~*~

Mike was pacing the floor when the elevator dinged and out walked three men in suits that may have been cheap but were nicer than the clothes Mike wore. "Oh look, boys, our friends from the FBI."

Tony gave McGee a look and shrugged. "Slacks, Fornell." Tony didn't know the third guy.

"What brings you boys over here from the Hoover building?" Mike asked. "You tryin' to crash our party?"

Coolly, unruffled by the unwelcoming greeting from the NCIS agent, Fornell replied, "I see you're still trying to keep up with the big boys, Franks. It's not your party. Seems you're trying to conduct an investigation into an FBI case. That makes it our party."

Mike smirked slightly. "Oh, you want Brooks. Not happening, boys. He may have assaulted one of my agents and we're running searches on him regarding an old drug case, NIS agent murdered. Woman and kid killed too." Mike just wished he could remember more. "Get your own dirtbag. This one is ours."

"Dirtbag? Ha! You need some new words. Jet Brooks is not a murderer, nor is he a criminal. You haven't been read in on our case, Franks, so don't assume you know anything."

"Then read me in, Tobias," Mike growled with a jerk of his head toward the alcove by the stairs. "Entertain our guests, DiNozzo, McGee." Mike strode over to the alcove and waited for the shorter man to join him.

"Not giving him up, Fornell. He hurt my forensic scientist and he and I have met before. McGee's running the searches and as soon as I can, I'm nailing the dirtbag. You can throw charges on him when I'm done. If there's anything left for ya afterward."

Mike eyed the other man, a clear challenge gleaming in both their eyes. "Brooks is mine, Fornell. You don't get to sweep in and steal the glory again. Let it happen too many times but this is my op, this is my collar."

He leaned in close, going nose to nose with Fornell. "My dirtbag, Tobias. Get your own."

Rolling his eyes as Franks tried to muscle his way into an FBI investigation, Fornell shot back, "I don't have to do a thing, least of all read you in. And I seriously doubt he did anything to your scientist. Abby, right? Yeah, if this is my man, I can guarantee he didn't harm a black hair on her gothic head. I want to see Brooks, now, Franks. No stalling."

"Brooks has a history here. Think he might have killed a NIS agent." Mike didn't like sharing any information but he was keeping a handle on this one. No matter what the short-term cost was.

He glanced over at Sacks and the other man and conceded a small point. "You and you alone. And I'm there when you ID him. He doesn't leave NCIS custody unless my director says so."

Mike didn't like it but he didn't see any other way to make Fornell and his bulldogs leave them in peace to figure this out.

"You think? Think that's gonna fly with the FBI, that you think. Not bloody likely, Franks." Nodding in acceptance, Fornell bit out, "I don't need anyone else with me. I can handle a simple interrogation on my own. But if you wanna be there…" He let the implication of Franks' desperation to peter off. Besides, his boys had other jobs they needed to keep track of.

"Don't much care, Tobias. He's our collar and our guy. Tryin' to be accommodatin' to ya, but if that isn't enough, you march your happy ass right back to the Hoover building." Mike chuckled. "And take your sissie boys with ya. The FBI breeding those metrosexual boys nowadays? McGee could take Sacks in a fair fight. Or an unfair one."

"He won't be your collar for much longer, Mike. You must really be in a bind on this one, to start insulting my guys.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As executive assistant to the director, Cynthia had cultivated a vast network of contacts, both within and outside the agency. Joey downstairs called her to tell her that the FBI had arrived, right after Mellody, the FBI director's assistant, called to say there was something major brewing and Fornell had stormed out of the director's office cursing all the while.

Mellody didn't have any more details to share, but she promised to call when she did and Cynthia extended the invitation of a dinner at Café Atlantico for her help. As with most things, it would be on NCIS' dime. Thank goodness for her corporate credit card and a director who understood the gossip network.

She buzzed the director's office, wanting to give him the news.

Morrow looked up when the phone rang and clicked the button, activating the speaker phone. "Yes, Cynthia? Haven't you gone home for the night?"

"No, sir. Our favorite FBI agent seems to be on the way and…oh, Doctor Mallard…" She looked up in shock as Ducky hurried into her boss' inner sanctum. Cynthia gently put the handset down and shook her head. After days like today, she was so tempted to ask for a huge raise.

Ducky hurried into the director's office, paying Cynthia no attention at all this time. "Director, we have a situation here. Special Agent Franks just battered a man we have in custody. Both Ziva and Abigail witnessed it first hand. He was restrained and Mike attacked him."

"What the hell?!" Jumping from his desk, Morrow called out. "Come on, Doctor. It looks like all hands on deck."

Striding out of his office, he told Cynthia as he passed. "Call my wife, please. Tell her I'm going to be late. We have a situation." He knew his wife would want to know more. But she would no doubt find a way to keep herself occupied.

"Yes, sir!" Cynthia sat up taller and dialed Katherine Morrow, explaining the situation as clearly and concisely as she could, despite the woman's obvious confusion and inebriated state. When she was done, she rubbed a hand over the bridge of her nose. In a short while she'd order some dinner for herself and the agents. Maybe even from Café Atlantico. She was owed and it was going to be a very long night.

Ducky scooped up a first aid kit and a bottle of water from the outer office and followed the director in silence, knowing his expression was becoming grimmer with every step. He could see Mike and Special Agent Fornell huddled together in the alcove and Tony and Timothy were entertaining two other men. Ducky frowned slightly then walked faster toward the group of younger men.

"Sebastian, is that you? My you've grown, lad! Aren't you with Interpol?" Ducky turned to DiNozzo and McGee. "Have you boys met Sebastian Blumenthal, he's an agent much like yourselves, with Interpol. Sebastian, why are you here?"

"Can't explain that to you, Doctor," Ron Sacks replied, giving Blumenthal a warning look. Ducky arched an eyebrow at the FBI agent before turning his attention back to the young man.

"Ducky," Sebastian said, warmly, extending a hand and clasping the Medical Examiner's. He looked uncomfortable, Ducky realized. Since Interpol didn't work with the military, Ducky couldn't fathom what Sebastian was doing here.

"Dear boy, I'm very happy to have you here with us. Why, I haven't seen you since…was it when Mother and your grandfather were courting a few years back. How is your grandfather doing? He's part of my bridge circle, but of course we don't play in many of the same tournaments and I…" Ducky trailed off then, noting that Director Morrow was looking at him in annoyance. "Ah…very well. We'll speak later then. Director?"

"Doctor…" the Director warned. There was something going drastically wrong in interrogation, and he needed to be there now, not listening to Ducky. "Doctor Mallard, we need to proceed."

"Yes. Oh yes. Oh. Of course!" Ducky nodded and hurried down the corridor with the director.

Making his way to the interrogation rooms, Director Morrow burst into the first one. At first glimpse, he took in Abby hovering protectively over a man whose face was bruised, while Ziva stood back a few steps in a clearly defensive posture.

"What in the hell is going on in my agency? Someone had better explain and quick."

Jet arched an eyebrow at the man who had marched in as if he owned the place. _His _agency? Must be a bigwig then. He gave the man his most pathetic look and acted as if he was going to extend a hand, only to come up short when he "realized" he was cuffed. He sat back down with a thump and lifted his hands to his aching temple.

It was overly dramatic, but he knew it'd get a reaction.

Tom Morrow had been reading through lies and bullshit for more years than he cared to admit. And this one was laying it on pretty thick; the bullshit anyhow. He doubted very much the cuffs and bruises would have been that big of a deterrent to someone like the man in front of him, despite his feeble look.

He'd let the man play his game, for now, and would wait to see where the suspect would take it and how far. Director Tom Morrow was many things, but impulsive and reckless were not on that list.

"Sciuto! David! Someone had better start explaining what the hell is going on!"

Knowing that Abby wasn't in a state to be objective, Ziva stepped forward to make her report and debrief the Director.

"Director," she began in greeting. "We apprehended this suspect, known as Jet Brooks, through Franks' op this evening. On the way here, he was Mirandized and detained. However, no charges were given to him, as per orders from Franks. When we arrived, I was instructed to bring him here and to guard him. Ms. Sciuto arrived to print him, which I allowed her to do in private." For reasons Ziva was not going to disclose. She would leave that to Abby. "She was safe, protected as I can hear through the door, and the suspect was cuffed."

Taking a deep breath, she began to describe the more…unsavory part of the entire occurrence. "When Franks returned to interrogate the suspect, he became enraged at finding Abby inside, alone with Brooks. He quite lost control of himself when he went inside the room. He charged the suspect, grabbing him by the clothes and striking him twice. The second hit caused Brooks to lose consciousness and fall to the floor. When confronted with his behavior by Abby, as I stood behind her in support and protection, Franks became more enraged, threatening her, and claiming he was going to have her transferred, among other things. When neither Abby nor myself backed down, he left."

The more details Ziva gave him, the tighter Tom's eyes became. The situation had gone exceedingly too far. Though why Mike would behave like that, Morrow was still confused about. "Why in the hell would Franks strike a suspect?"

Getting up from her chair next to Jet, Abby walked over to the director. "He says it's because Je…Brooks assaulted me and was threatening me when he came into interrogation. He also said that Brooks hit himself. None of that is true, Director."

Ducky was impressed that the girls didn't hold back. It must have been hard for them to explain what Mike had done in this fashion. "Well done," he whispered, looking at the women and then the suspect, assessing his physical injuries.

No changes, which was bloody good. Brooks' eyes remained clear and focused, and his attention was clearly on the proceedings. He didn't appear to be groggy in the least. Ducky breathed a silent sigh of relief for that. The last thing any of them needed was an injured suspect.

Jet just watched as things unfolded. This had to be the NCIS director, Morrow. He nodded slightly at the realization, coughing back a growl as his head started throbbing even worse. Ziva impressed the hell out of him with her frank assessment of the events. It was never easy to call a superior out on their behavior.

He didn't dare add anything to the conversation, so he turned in his chair slightly, watching the other man's body language and every move, body coiled in case he needed to defend Abby or Ziva. He knew the man had to have seen through his act, but it was done to get a reaction, not to maintain that it was truth or any BS like that. These were trained investigators. He could pull one over on them if he wanted to. But he wasn't interested in trying yet. The name confusion would do just fine until or unless anything changed.

Hearing him cough, Abby turned and saw Jet flinch, though barely. "Ducky, do you have those aspirin and some ice?" Seeing a first aid kit in the doctor's hand, Abby assumed the items were in there. Grabbing it, she looked through it and said, "Thanks Duckman." Going back to Jet, she sat in the chair and pulled out the pain meds and a small bottle of water. Handing them to Jet, she waited for him to sip the water and take the pills.

Morrow shook his head at Ziva's explanation, running over it and coming up with questions. "That's all well and good, but that still doesn't explain why Franks would come in and hit a restrained suspect. There had to have been some provocation."

Jet took the water and pills, putting his hands back on the table and barely resisting the urge to touch Abby. He looked at the older man and shook his head. "There wasn't. I was sitting right here…" He trailed off, knowing that while this fight involved him, it wasn't really his fight. But he couldn't help adding something else.

"I didn't assault her."

"Director, other than causing an…unexpected reaction in Abby, the suspect didn't have time to do anything." Ziva hoped that Morrow wouldn't press for what had happened to Abby. If and when it was time to do so, she hoped either Abby would tell or she'd at least have some privacy. Ziva hated to disclose information about friends, despite her rundown of Franks' behavior.

"He didn't, Director. He didn't have the time or the means, even besides being cuffed. Ziva was outside and plenty able to get to me if I needed her. I wasn't threatened in the least." Sitting as she was by the table with Jet between her and the rest of the group, Abby found herself to be weaker than Jet. With one hand supporting her on the table, she let the hand closest to Jet fall to her lap. With her pinky, she traced a light pattern on his pants, unseen by anyone in the room or in observation.

"So, you're telling me my senior agent came in here and assaulted you with no more antagonism than Abby being alone with you?" Morrow turned his gaze on the suspect. He was having an incredibly hard time believing that Franks would be that stupid. But hearing it from so many witnesses, he didn't know what else he could believe.

Jet nodded, shrugging. What could he say? "That was how we all saw it, Sir. Maybe we're all wrong…" But he knew they weren't. He wanted to stand up, yank the damn cuffs off, and start ranting but that'd get him pinned against the wall or worse.

"Unless you're leading a conspiracy against Franks, I highly doubt three witnesses could all be mistaken." Morrow started pacing the room, trying to figure out how to spin this. Stopping in front Ziva, he asked the two girls, "Do you two have any ideas what the hell went wrong with Franks?"

"It was my fault, Director," Abby admitted as she stood up. "I think Mike had it in his head that I needed to be protected, that somehow my being alone with the suspect was putting me in danger." Swallowing, Abby hesitated before admitting the last part. Her reaction to Jet and her subsequent behavior when they first met was embarrassing. But to save both her guys – and she did consider Jet one of her guys now – she would have to admit it all.

"Director, I…when I first came in contact with the suspect, with Mr. Brooks," she began, hating that she had to make it sound so impersonal, despite her strange, growing feelings for Jet. "I'm afraid I was a bit… overwhelmed by the situation, by him. I've never been in a position like that, and I was more attracted to him than I thought. It shook me up. I think Mike saw that as me being threatened," she finished quickly, shuffling her feet as she felt her embarrassment stain her cheeks red.

"So, it was my fault. I'm sorry," she tried, before plopping back down in her seat and lowering her head to the table. She was too mortified to look at anyone then, especially Jet, too embarrassed to have behaved as such an idiot. _Bet Ziva would never have acted like that,_ Abby thought to herself.

"Abby, it wasn't your fault," Jet said quietly but forcefully. He knew he had to give the man something, so with his heart hammering in his throat, he began speaking. "Sir, many years ago Mr. Franks investigated a crime against someone I know. We met then… but I was _not _a suspect," he emphasized. "He may have had me pegged as a problem in that investigation because it was a long time ago…"

He trailed off before looking back into the older man's eyes. "I will not discuss the specifics of the investigation with anyone. That is the only information you're getting about it."

"Jet, it was my fault," Abby whispered to him. "It was and it still is. If I had known how to handle the op, had had more experience, then I wouldn't have taken the stun gun to you. And now, I wouldn't have seen you alone, no matter how much I needed to see you…it all goes back to experience, right?"

"I deserved the damned stun gun," Jet insisted. "You did the right thing. I could have hurt you."

"I didn't do it because I felt threatened," Abby argued, hating that she'd have to admit this one last detail. "I did it because I thought you were after the jewelry, not me. I thought you were a thief and…I got pissed," she admitted.

"Good…" Jet said softly, knowing he needed to expand on that as soon as the word was out of his mouth. "You got feisty, you got pissed, and you struck out. Good to know you have spirit and soul, Abby." He carefully didn't admit to anything.

Abby smiled wryly at his comment. "You have no idea just how feisty I can get, Jet. I've got spirit and soul in abundance." She wasn't so naïve that she missed his avoidance of anything mentioning the jewelry. But with everything else that had happened, his needing to keep his secrets was not something she wanted to worry about.

"Can't wait until you let them come out and play then," he shot back, halting when the doctor gave him a warning glance. He was playing with fire here and he needed to rein himself in. He gave the man a look of acknowledgment and of silent thanks. He had to get back on track for all of their sakes, especially Abby.

After a pause of a few seconds, Jet spoke again. "Given the circumstances, the entire team reacted quite reasonably. They saw one of their own shaken up. They protected their own, someone who isn't used to being in that circumstance." He fixed the man with a severe glare. "And they reacted."

Ducky worried his lower lip between his teeth. "Director. We have Ziva and yourself in here and though Abby and I are not armed, we are capable and able. Might you remove the gentleman's handcuffs? He has been through quite the ordeal and I don't think he's up for an escape. And even if so, he'd never make it to the gates before the entire base was on lockdown."

"Please, Director. We don't even know if he's done anything wrong. Please let him go," Abby begged. And somehow, she knew that despite appearances, if Jet wanted to escape and disappear, he was more than able.

~*~

Sebastian Blumenthal tried to remain less imposing and looked at the younger man's computer, letting the two NCIS agents and Sacks fight things out. He could do bad cop, unobtrusive cop with the best of 'em. When the computer flashed up a hit on something they didn't want discovered, he leaned on the keyboard, clearing the search. If either of the men were computer gurus, they could pull up the details quickly, but if not he might have bought them some time. He gave Sacks a brief nod. This was the one thing they'd been tasked to do. At least they weren't Fornell, who had to make contact…

And they might have gotten away with it. At least until the computer beeped…

"McGee!" Tony peered around the guy Ducky knew, nudging him out of the way. "You and Sacks stand over there, near those two desks." Tony pointed toward Ziva's desk area. He leaned over McGee's shoulder, staring at the screen. "McGeek? Can you get back whatever was there before he did what he did?" Tony asked urgently. "Mission Impossible it up if you have to. Something fishy going on here."

"Oh it, Boss…I mean, Tony." Inwardly, Tim head slapped himself. He hated it when he slipped up and called Tony "boss." It always went straight to the other man's head. Quickly clicking away on his keyboard, he worked to bring up whatever information Agent Blumenthal had erased.

"Did I do something wrong?" Sebastian asked, winking at Sacks before leaning against one of the desks. He didn't much like working with the FBI but his superiors had insisted that they work this case together and with a minimum of frustration and turf wars. Ron Sacks wasn't too bad and Fornell had a Napoleon complex but he could deal and work with the man just fine.

"Not buying the innocent act." Tony muttered, squeezing McGee's shoulder. "Deliberate?" he questioned, whispering into McGee's ear. Even though they'd been bickering beforehand, whenever anyone threatened the team, they tightened ranks.

What the hell was Interpol doing here anyway? Brooks was big trouble. At least he'd be out of their hair soon with the Feebs and Interpol playing along with NCIS. Tony had seen enough turf wars and he knew much as Mike might want to, there was no way he'd win this battle.

"Deliberate," McGee confirmed as he worked his way through the computer system.

Tony nodded, leaning over the keyboard alongside McGee, keeping half his attention on the two looking ever so innocent. "Bastard," he muttered for McGee's benefit.

"Finally," Tim said annoyed. The deleted search was the latest one he had been running on Franks' request. Having started a search on past cases Franks had been involved in, plus the search elements from earlier, he was pleased to see something come up. "Got something, Tony. Old case Franks worked on. It doesn't list a Jet Brooks, but a Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Marine. Jet could be an abbreviation. Both wife and daughter were killed. Wife was a witness for the prosecution. Drugs. There's a picture."

Pulling up the photo, it showed a young Jet Brooks as a Marine, but with the name of L. Jethro Gibbs, Gunnery Sergeant. "Its like Franks was growling about, but the facts were wrong. Brooks/Gibbs was the husband and father of the victims, not the murderer."

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" Tony asked, incredulously. Nobody could have heaped a name on a kid that was that bad. Leroy Jethro? It sounded very…Green Acres, very Beverly Hillbillies. Tony couldn't wrap his mind around it. The guy they'd collared was in a designer tux, hair military short but pristine. The guy had screamed urbane elegance. Not…_Leroy Jethro??_

Tony took in the rest of the information and leaned in when McGee pulled up the picture. Young guy, probably late twenties, dark hair, even though the picture was black and white, Tony had the impression that those eyes were ice blue.

Franks had it wrong? Tony pulled in a breath, looking around. At some point, Mike and Fornell had left. They were probably in interrogation. "Interrogation, McGee. Let's bring our guests along."

Tim's gut twisted as he realized the man in interrogation wasn't a perp, a dirtbag as Tony had labeled him. He was a Marine. Looking up at the agents watching them, he asked, "He's FBI, right? That's why you're here."

Sebastian wasn't admitting to anything but when the two men started to make their way out of the squad room, he stepped in front of the younger looking one. "Don't draw conclusions here."

"Conclusions? I haven't made any conclusions, just trying to investigate what's happening, otherwise known as _my job_," Tim shot off. "But if you know something, you'd better tell us before the FBI comes out of that interrogation room looking incompetent."

Heading after Tony, he called out, "On your six, Tony."

Sebastian turned to Sacks and shrugged. He knew when to back off. "Got popcorn? Watching Tobias' head blow off should be pretty entertaining."

~*~

Martin Fletcher had an understanding relationship with many of the directors of agencies that fell under the DOD and DOJ. Many of them had gone to prep school together or were in the same networks at their universities. He'd known Tom Morrow the longest and considered him a close friend. When his assistant passed on the news that Fornell was heading over there, Martin knew he needed to call Tom. Two emergencies later, he was dialing Tom's cell number, hoping he'd beaten Fornell to the punch but knowing in his gut that he hadn't.

Morrow watched Abby and Brooks, still trying to formulate a response and game plan, when his cell started ringing. Not checking the caller-ID, he answered, "Director Morrow." He motioned Ziva to stand guard and then stepped into the hallway and a few feet away from the interrogation room doors for privacy.

"Tom, it's Martin. Got a bit of a problem and you're going to have a couple of visitors from my agency. Treat 'em well, will ya? You know Tobias Fornell and Ron Sacks and I've got a man your boys collared called Jet Brooks. He's an agent deep undercover for me. Make sure you treat him well, Tom. He's a good man, the best."

"Hey Martin. It's good to hear from you," Morrow said in greeting. As his old friend explained about his undercover operative, Morrow felt the stress clamp around him. "So, you're telling me the guy my people nabbed tonight is actually an undercover FBI agent? And just how far will your man go to keep his cover? How deep is this, Martin?"

"You got Brooks, that's him." Martin's voice got very serious. "He'll stay as deep as we need him to. What're the charges? Does my guy have to see jail time? He'll do it, Tommy. He's as good as they get and he won't risk the op unless he knows it is authorized from me. If you can promise me his cover will remain secure, tell him that I said I want him to tell you about getting the boat out. He'll understand."

Fletcher chuckled. "Wish I could be there when he gives Tobias the cold shoulder. Toby thinks he runs this op, but Brooks knows all orders come only from me. You scratch my back on this one and I'll scratch yours. Call me back later and debrief me and we'll see if we can't help each other."

"Getting out the boat? Interesting phrase. No one has been able to tell me what charges, if any, he's being held on. I'll probably be able to spin this, but I'll let you know. And as always, I'll keep this information to myself, or at least tell only those who need to know and who can play it close to vest. And I'm sure, since they're all in interrogation now, there may be something for you to watch later." He laughed. "Sounds good, Marty. Tell the wife I send my best. And think about getting together this weekend and grilling up some steaks if things cool down with this situation."

"I expect a DVD, Tom. He's a good guy but they don't make 'em much tougher. He's my best undercover. Don't let your men screw anything up. Fornell is his handler, but he's a fairly senior agent, Tom. He knows his stuff…and he's good." Martin chuckled. "I'll have mine call yours tomorrow for lunch and you come over on the weekend." Hopefully Katherine Morrow wouldn't be drunk or on her painkillers and they could actually socialize.

Martin looked at his Rolex and tapped his desk a few times, considering something. Look, Tom, he is my best and I want him protected at all costs. I'll get over there. Give me twenty minutes. Maybe we can work together to get some answers and keep his cover intact."

"If you're on your way, I'll hold out on exposing his cover until you're here. And like I said, we'll bring in only the people we have to. This Interpol guy, he one of yours too?"

"Working with us on this op. He's okay too and he's read in. I'll see ya soon, Tom."

~*~

Tony paused, looking between the door to interrogation and the observation room. Fornell was nowhere to be found and Franks was just entering the observation room. Tony followed him in, angling a glance at Tim.

"Mike? Probie's IDed that guy." Tony wouldn't say anything more, letting McGee take credit where it was due.

"Yeah?" Mike asked, whirling around. "Was I right, McGee?"

Giving Tony a dirty look for hanging his neck out alone, Tim replied. "Kinda, Boss. I guess you worked with him like eighteen years ago." Showing Mike the file and picture he had quickly printed off before coming to interrogation, Tim handed over the case file and picture of Jet Brooks, aka Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "But he wasn't the perp, Franks. He was the husband and father of the victims. A Marine sniper."

Mike stared at the pictures, the memory coming back to him. "Pendleton. Woman witnessed a drug deal." He nodded, feeling like crap all of a sudden. "He was fighting in the Middle East. Desert Storm. Hurt real bad afterward. Came to see me after they were gone… Druggie dirtbag caused an accident. Shot my agent, car accident killed the woman and girl but the dirtbag shot 'em up anyway."

Mike's gaze sharpened and focused even more on the man. "Did he go bad? What've we got on Leroy Jethro Gibbs, McGee? Job? Credit history? When he last took a piss? It all in here or did you come running in here half baked?"

Mike knew he was being unfair but now he was even more pissed off. At himself.

"Thought you needed to know ASAP, Mike." Tony shot back. "Don't blame Probie."

"Sorry, Boss. I just thought you'd want to know right away. I can go back and find out what I can…" Tim said, hesitating as he turned to go.

"Do it. You go with him, DiNozzo," Mike growled. He didn't want them to see him pound the wall in frustration. That guy had been a good man once. If he still was a good man, Mike had miscalculated and beat up someone he had no business hurting. If he was bad…he was going down hard.

Mike remembered the family well. Redheaded wife. Beautiful little girl. Wife had taken a year off from teaching in order to come to Pendleton from DC. He shook his head sadly, vowing to get answers.

"Okay, Franks. We'll get it to you as soon as I have something." Tim hurried from the room, assuming Tony would be following him.

Blumenthal and Sacks stepped back as the NCIS agents walked out. Sebastian could tell things were falling apart and this was going to be a very long night.

"Days like this, we need hazard pay," he muttered to Sacks as they shadowed the NCIS agents.

~*~

Mike stormed out of observation and went in search of Fornell, who he found outside the bathroom. "They're in Room One, I'll be in observation." Mike strode into observation and made sure the audio and video recording devices were turned on. He wasn't gonna miss a second of this.

His ass might be in a sling after today but he'd dodge this bullet. And if Gibbs/Brooks had gone bad, as Mike suspected, there wasn't anyone in this agency that would fault his reaction.

"Nice party NCIS is throwing," Tobias said as he entered the room, seeing the Director of NCIS, Doctor Mallard, the Mossad assassin and the forensic scientist all conferencing with Brooks. "Mind if the FBI joins?"

Ducky's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Fornell in one of their interrogation rooms. This wasn't any good at all. "Special Agent Fornell, lovely to see you. Am I to assume you brought Sebastian Blumenthal along with you? Fine boy."

Jet looked at the newcomer impassively. "Not a party when the guest of honor is cuffed," he muttered, rattling the cuffs for emphasis.

"Good to see you, Ducky. Yes, Agent Blumenthal is with me." Seeing his agent, albeit undercover at the moment, cuffed and appearing to be beaten, Fornell growled out. "What the hell is going on here?"

Jet gave him a 'don't ask me, I'm just the suspect' shrug. He'd been deep undercover for a long time, which meant he and Tobias hadn't spoken much. But Toby knew him, knew how he ran his ops. Knew this wasn't standard behavior or operating procedures.

"Have we met?" Jet asked, keeping his cover intact. He wouldn't break it unless directed by someone much higher up than Tobias. "I know the doctor, the agent, the forensic scientist, and this guy must be the big cheese, but who are you?"

Hearing Morrow snort in amusement at being called the "big cheese," Fornell shook his head. "My name is Agent Tobias Fornell, I'm with the FBI."

"Hello, Agent Tobias Fornell. Are you as special an agent as the NCIS agents? They're good with their fists. Do I lodge a complaint with you or the big cheese?"

"You lodge it with me, Brooks. The FBI has no standing in this case so far." And in that Morrow was telling the truth. Until Martin gave his operative the go ahead, Morrow was forced to keep the information separate, for now. But if things got even more out of control, he'd have to force Fletcher's hand.

"Your agent attacked me. Three of them actually, not counting the stun gun treatment from the forensic scientist here." He winked at her, hoping she knew he wasn't lumping her in with Franks. "Agent…Tim? The young one. He jammed a gun into my abdomen when I was already cuffed and subdued. The other one. Tony, was it? Bashed my head against a wall. And then the older guy, Mike Franks. He decked me in here while I was cuffed, as your two employees mentioned before the FBI guy arrived."

Jet glanced over at Toby for a split second, letting his gaze flicker over the man instead of meeting his eyes.

"And they still haven't told me what I've done to get this treatment. What are the charges?"

"Are you telling me they all attacked you in one form or another? Even Abby?" he asked, glaring at his forensic scientist at that news. Franks, he could expect. Ziva and Tony, if provoked. And even Tim if he got pushed into a corner. But Abby? "I haven't been told of any charges either."

Bellowing since he knew Franks was in observation, Morrow called out, "Franks! Get in here and tell me what the hell is going on and what charges you're planning on bringing!" He was hoping that, through intimidation, he could get Franks to drop whatever bee was in his bonnet this time.

"Not Abby and Ziva," Jet insisted. "But the two guys and their boss. Abby has been…" He gave her a small smile and a wink. "Amazing. And Ziva has been a warrior of honor."

Abby gave him an unsure smile, still convinced the entire evening had been her fault. If she had been able to handle herself better, she'd never been shaken up, would have been better able to handle even Jet. Or at least, that's what she was telling herself.

Franks stormed in and looked at the director and then the man, being pissed enough to show his hand and blow this wide open. He slapped the file on the table, quietly impressed when the other man didn't even flinch. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Gunnery Sergeant, 1/1 company. Served in Desert Storm, Panama, Columbia, and many other places. Damned good sniper, weren't ya? MP before then. Wife and daughter died along with one of my best damn agents. When you went bad, you went_ real_ bad, Leroy."

He turned to Morrow then, triumph glittering in his eyes. "Director, I remembered why the suspect looked familiar."

Hearing Mike burst in, Abby took a defensive pose next to Jet. She wasn't going to let him hurt a shackled man, especially _this_ shackled man, ever again. But when her boss threw down the bombshell about the murders of Jet's family, she turned back to him, her hand clasped to her mouth in shock. "Is it true? Did someone kill your wife and daughter? Oh God, Jet. I am so sorry."

Jet winced, looking away. He didn't want to discuss this in front of her, in front of the one woman who had caught his attention since…her. And he wouldn't give Franks the satisfaction. Instead, he lifted one hand and signed 'yes' to her before he looked away, eyes fixed on a spot above her ear.

It hurt her when he turned away, even though he signed to her. But she could understand, they barely knew each other. And something like that must be the most painful thing in the world. Abby couldn't imagine the grief he must have lived through, must still be living through. And for his troubles, he got electrocuted and beaten.

Turning to the supervisory agent, Fornell growled out, "Do you think you could brag about it anymore, Franks? How 'bout it? Or you must think the man likes to have his wife and daughter bandied around simply because you finally figured out how you know him?" He didn't like how the man went straight to making the cuffed FBI agent the bad guy, trying to make up for his treatment of a prisoner.

Mike shook his head at a loss for words again. "I…recognized him," he finished.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"And this has nothing to do with the fact you attacked a restrained prisoner, with the fact you attacked a man without being provoked or having a reason, and have yet to charge the man? Do you assume just because you found out who the man really is, and I'm going to assume that it was actually a member of your team who made the discovery, that I will overlook your actions?" Morrow was furious; furious at Franks for putting him in a tenuous situation; furious at the FBI for letting their ops cross; even a bit furious at the connection even he could feel pouring from Brooks and Abby.

Mike shrugged, hating being dressed down in front of Fornell and the others. "Not here, Tom," he said, knowing it was more of a plea than anything else. An uncharacteristic plea on his part.

"But we will, Mike. Before the day is done I want to see you in my office for a full debriefing on what transpired here today." His tone allowed for no arguments, called for no debate and instead only the complete truth.

Mike nodded jerkily. Morrow was gonna hand him his ass over this.

Jet blinked a few times and gave Tobias a look, not sure how to play this.

Martin Fletcher had his driver race him over to NCIS headquarters and he barely nodded at the two agents at their computers and Sacks and Blumenthal standing nearby. When he strode inside the interrogation room, he faltered slightly at the sight of Jethro's bruised face, giving Tobias an angry glare.

"Morrow," he said more formally than he spoke in their phone conversation. "NCIS personnel, Special Agent Fornell." He paused for a long moment, then gave Jet a small smile. "Special Agent Gibbs. Morrow, think we can get my man out of cuffs and handle this a little more civilized?"

"Special Agent?" Mike growled. "He's a fed?" When the FBI agent nodded, Mike stalked out of the room to get DiNozzo and McGee. They could all stand charges for assaulting a federal agent and they needed to know this new development.

"Well put, Fletcher. Officer David. Would you please release Mr. Brooks so that we can get this straightened out?" Nodding her agreement, she moved to free the suspect.

As Ziva went to uncuff him, Abby stood up and moved by the door, knowing her time inside the interrogation room was short. It was becoming overly crowded and there were too many people of too high a rank for her to be needed much longer. Once they were done questioning her, she'd have to leave. And then, more than likely, she'd never see Jet again.

Why would he come find her? She used a stun gun on him, got him arrested, beat up. Really great first impression. In the little time she had left, she just watched him, memorizing his face, before she had to go to her lab with only a few memories.

He removed the cuffs himself, it was faster. Abby was trying to escape and she was most important right now. Soon as the cuffs clattered to the table, he took her arm and pulled her to the corner where the cameras didn't have the direct line, the area where she'd kissed him.

"FBI," he said quietly, sadly. "Deep undercover. Couldn't break cover unless I was given orders. Wasn't what I wanted to do, lying to you. Tell me this is still real…because it is for me."

Now that Jet Brooks and Leroy Jethro Gibbs had collided so violently, he was reeling, not sure which one he needed to be. He'd been Jet Brooks for months and months now and coming back to earth as an agent was disorienting at best. For some reason, she was his lifeline right now.

"Tell me this is real, Abby."

"You don't need to explain yourself, Je..Lero…What do you go by? What do I call you?" she asked, still stunned by his admission. Looking up at him, her eyes wide and dark from shock and a bit of sadness, she said, "You don't need to explain yourself. You didn't do anything wrong."

When he made his declaration, she whispered, "This is real to me. About the only real thing right now. When you're done, when it's all over, and if you still think this is real, come and find me. I'll be in my lab, just a few floors below us. It's pretty easy and everyone knows where I am…and if you still want me, if it's still real…" she let that hang in the air, not wanting to pressure him.

"Not Leroy," he said, shaking his head firmly. "Jet is fine. I'm used to answering to that." And it seemed a bit more modern than Jethro. He nodded at what she said, wanting to go further but knowing he couldn't yet. Not now when all the eyes in the room were on them.

He angled his body so that he was blocking their view and he signed a few of the words she had earlier. _Longing. Bond. Connection._ He wouldn't turn away until he had some sort of a response from her.

"Jet," she whispered, smiling. Watching his hands, her smile softened even more, remembering their time together before all hell had broken loose. Signing back, she tried to let him know she understood. _Real. Together. Find me._

He nodded, hoping she knew that he wasn't looking at her as only an assignment. She was so much more than that. "Until later," he whispered, knowing things were going to get intense. "Feisty princess."

"Secret agent," she shot back. With his body still shielding them from prying eyes, Abby put her hand over one of his. Caressing the knuckles, she let him know she'd be waiting. As he turned to leave, she gave him one last smile in goodbye. Abby could only hope that when things got settled, he'd be able to come and find her.

Calling out, she said, "Director Morrow? If you're done with me, can I go back to the lab? I still need to run facial recognitions on the captures from tonight, in case I can match one of them up to the drug case."

"Go ahead, Sciuto. Just don't get lost on the way to your lab, missy," he teased. No matter how much trouble she got in, or how much trouble she was, Abby would always be a favorite of his. Her vivaciousness and joy of life were the opposite of most of his daily dealings as the director of a major investigative agency.

"I won't, Director. And thank you," she said, before she left, looking at Jet one last time before disappearing through the interrogation room door.

It was almost like a physical blow when she left the room. He felt like a teenager again, and it was a distraction he didn't need. He let his eyes drift over the knowing smiles of Ziva and the doctor, the sternness of both directors, the enigmatic kind of half smile of Tobias and he drifted over to stand next to him.

"Hell of a handler, letting me get beat up," he said, teasing slightly, nudging Tobias' shoulder with his arm.

"You're the one who made 'contact' with their undercover agent," Fornell teased back. Teasing wasn't always natural for Tobias, but he had a good rapport with the man and was comfortable with the interaction. "You sure chose a good one. Yeah, she's gorgeous, but she happens to be the darling of NCIS. You couldn't have picked a quicker way to get the shit beat out of you."

Jet grinned. "Should have seen the emerald necklace she had on. Every man's eyes were on her. I was sure she'd be marked and wanted to spend a little time with her first then observe her from a distance." He shrugged.

"Then her bulldogs stormed in. At least they got me out of there with nobody noticing. Cover should be completely intact." He felt his expression softening. "She looked spectacular in that dress. You wouldn't even picture her in that after seeing her in what she was just wearing."

Gibbs wasn't a man who fell in love—or lust—easily. He didn't let anyone in. Jet Brooks was even more distant in his personal relationships. So why was this woman getting so thoroughly under his skin?

"Yeah, I'm sure it was her necklace that made you want to spend some time with her. And not the body in the dress, or the emerald eyes, right?" Tobias laughed. The look on Jet's face was priceless for a man living his life as a confirmed bachelor for the last dozen or so years. If Abby was half the girl he knew her to be, she'd have the hardened FBI agent wrapped around her finger before too long.

Tobias continued speaking. "And the Director'll probably want to put you back undercover as soon as possible. So, if you're cover is intact, it'll be less of a headache for us in the long run. They may be cowboys, but NCIS does know how to run an op successfully."

"She isn't a redhead," Gibbs pointed out. Toby knew all about his penchant for redheads. Toby had married one who had broken Gibbs' heart first. They'd barely known each other and Toby hadn't taken his warning advice that she would break his heart, but at least the other man had a beautiful little girl who had come out of his disastrous marriage.

Jet was trying to deflect. He knew this girl meant a great deal to him already and he wasn't going to let Toby use that knowledge. But he knew what his expression read and from his friend's reaction, it wasn't a secret.

"My cover better be intact," Jet growled. "Worked too damn hard to get inside and accepted, Toby."

"So, maybe you can break through past habits after all, Jet." But he let the matter drop. He knew how much the past had ripped his friend apart. In fact, they shared some of that past. So if he could somehow find some happiness with the strange Goth girl from NCIS, Tobias wasn't going to force the point.

"We'll have to hammer out some points on our op versus theirs. But I think the way they handled it, you'll be covered."

"Hope so. They were subtle when they led me out. Has to be worth something, Toby." He ran a hand over his jaw and face, sighing. "Gonna bruise up pretty badly. Gonna have to cancel going to Sunday's benefit at the art gallery. Couldn't explain this away as airbag damage from a car accident, could I?"

Jet felt a little more comfortable now that he had someone he knew nearby. A couple of someones. Fletcher had been a friend of his CO who had offered him a job if he had some training after the Marines. He'd taken some classes, gotten his degree in criminal justice in just over twenty months, and started at the FBI right afterward. Fletcher was a good man, a close friend.

And Tobias had become a good friend in time as well.

Looking over the marks on Gibbs' face, Fornell shook his head at the damage Mike Franks had done him. Laughing, Tobias offered, "You can always say that you hooked up with a girl whose boyfriend took offense. That he decked you for stealing his woman."

Considering the explanation, he said, "In fact, that might make a really good excuse for your leaving the party. Were you seen with Abby? Could anyone make an ID if they saw her again or say they saw you leave with her?"

"That isn't done in those circles, Tobias," he said, affecting a cultured accent and lessening his words with a wink. "I didn't leave with her exactly. We drifted away into a corridor. Then she left alone and two of her friends led me out. Don't know if we were seen. Don't know what her cover ID is. Someone would have background-checked her. We need to coordinate and see how screwed I am, Toby."

Tobias grunted in amusement, saying, "You do that too well sometimes." Hitting Jet good naturedly on the shoulder, Fornell looked over at their bosses. "I think that's the idea behind our Directors. See them conspiring over there?" He said, gesturing to the two older men. "I think once we sit down and get this out, we'll figure out a way to unscrew you."

"I'm a chameleon, Toby. But sometimes I forget who I am." It was a rare moment of vulnerability. Jethro often needed a few weeks to come down from an undercover op and this was the equivalent of having cold water splashed on him. He was jittery and anxious, a state that was rare to him.

He pulled in a deep breath. "Need some coffee, Tobias. And my own bed for a change would be nice, but that can't happen."

He was out of sorts in a lot of ways, and it wasn't just meeting Abby that had knocked him off his game.

"Well, I'm pretty sure we can find you a cup of coffee, and hopefully a good one. As for your own bed, can't help you with that. Unless Fletcher gives you the night off to regroup and even then, you know the old saying. You can never go home again. Not 'til the op is over, anyway." He almost said something crass about staying in Abby's bed, but Tobias knew that Jet already had a rough enough day as it was. If he gave Jet even more crap about Abby, his colleague might be pushed beyond his limits.

"Penthouse is great, better than a humble civil servant like me can afford." But it was sterile. No woodworking projects around, no nosy but well meaning neighbors, no pictures of his family. He had some books around, but just like the clothes, they were things his persona should enjoy. Not him. The Lexus he drove was great but it wasn't his. He much preferred his Jeep Cherokee, which was a little long in the tooth but drove fine.

"Getting sick of being someone else, Toby. Miss the range, miss a lot of things."

"Hopefully, if we can work this out, we'll be able to close this op sooner rather than later, even with NCIS' help. The Director will give you some time to come down, Gibbs. He generally does. Then you can have your own bed. And maybe you'll be able to explore that odd chemistry you have with that even stranger girl."

He arched a brow at Toby. "Think I lost my mind, don't ya? There's something about her, though. Something between us…" Jet ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Gonna need some time off after this one."

This op had come shortly after a very long term one, over two years in duration. They'd broken a domestic slavery ring wide open but he'd had to go in real deep and he hadn't been given more than a week to recover. He needed that down time, especially now.

"I've always thought you lost your mind, the way you throw yourself into these undercover ops the way you do. Honestly, it's almost like you don't wanna know the person you are, so you get your kicks from pretending to be someone else. I'd think it was time to figure out who Jethro Gibbs is, with or without the help of a Gothic scientist."

Patting his friend on the back, Tobias said, "Now let's go get us some coffee before the politics of this joint op bite us in the butt."

~*~

"DiNozzo! McGee!" Mike slapped their shoulders and motioned them over to the alcove where he'd been talking with Fornell earlier. That slippery bastard had known and that pissed Mike off. At least in this alcove, he wouldn't let Sacks and his friend hear everything. They lingered like a bad smell by Ziva's desk.

"FBI director is here. Brooks…Gibbs, is one of theirs. A special agent just like us. Come on, we gotta face the music, boys. Least you didn't deck him in interrogation like I did."

Tim felt his heart drop to his stomach. "He's FBI, Boss? How'd I guess that one?" he asked stunned. "Wait, you hit him? When?"

"In there. Interrogation. Decked him, knocked him out." He gave Tim and Tony a smile. "Gonna hang for this one, boy. Least I won't hang alone." He let out a bitter chuckle and walked ahead of them back to interrogation.

Tony let out a sigh and edged closer to Tim. "Crap. FBI. And their director is here? Bet Brooks sang like a canary to Fornell. You'll be okay, Tim. I'll take the rap. I knocked his head, you just pulled your weapon. Breathe, Probie. Breathe…"

"Not gonna take the blame alone. Your actions can be explained away, even as an accident. My pulling a gun and threatening the life of the suspect? Yeah, not so much." Tim was a bit disappointed in their boss, treating their poor behavior like a joke. They all knew better. But something about that man and his behavior with Abby had set them all off.

Tony clapped a firm hand on Tim's shoulder. "Senior field agent. Let me take the blame," Tony said. With Franks so brittle, they couldn't count on his support. "Let me, Probie. Gotta feel useful here." Tony pulled in a deep breath, aware that his hands were shaking a little.

"You're more than useful, and you know it. Just because I know which keys to hit on a computer doesn't make me the investigator you are, Tony." Tim knew the two of them were a united front; united against what, he still didn't know.

Tony gave Tim a grin. "Thanks, I think, Probie."

"Question is, did we wander into their op or did they wander into ours?" Small distinction but it could make a difference.

"Or," Tim added. "Are the ops even related at all?"

"Yeah. Guess we'd better go find that out and see how deep and how brown the creek we're in is."

"On your six, Tony," he said hesitantly. Tim knew that no matter how much Tony teased him or gave him a hard time the two of them would always get each other's back no matter what.

Tony slung an arm around McGee's shoulders. "Side by side, Probie. Like brothers in arms walking into war." He didn't cheapen the moment with a movie comment, though he was tempted. They ducked into Observation and checked things out before announcing their presence.

~*~

Fletcher arched a brow at Morrow and looked around the room. "Got a conference room we can commandeer? And all copies of anything involving my man here. We have some things to work out, Tom, and our men and women need to be included."

"Anything you need, Martin. It's the least we can do. And I'll make sure our men and women cooperate fully."

"As will mine. Fornell, Sacks and Blumenthal can go back to the office. You stay. Morrow, I need your people in this room and whoever collared Gibbs. And I need you to destroy any evidence of this interrogation."

"Right, Sir," Fornell called out, already heading out of the room to find his two agents. He'd send them back to FBI headquarters, but he had plans to run, plans to make sure the op didn't go any farther south than it already was, thanks to NCIS.

Blumenthal looked up when Fornell walked out. "Is it our man?" As Interpol liaison, he didn't answer directly to anyone but Fletcher, but he and Fornell had cultivated a respectful relationship. They were both men who wanted answers and trusted in the op and the man inside. Jet was damned good and Sebastian hoped he hadn't been compromised.

"Yeah, it is. He got himself mixed up with an op the NCIS agents are running." Shaking his head, he said, "You and Sacks will be going back to headquarters to run it from our end. I'll be working here with the NCIS agents," he added, rolling his eyes. "Be ready to roll at my or the director's orders," he finished with a dismissal.

"Coffee and takeout first," Sebastian commented quietly to Sacks as they slipped away. It was going to be another very late night.

~*~

Martin pointed for everyone to leave the interrogation room. After they'd filed out and he and Tom were alone, he picked up the file folder and handed it back to Morrow. "Let's keep the humiliation of my guy to a minimum. He doesn't need to be reminded of that."

Grabbing the folder from his friend, Tom shook his head. "No, no he doesn't. So, what do we do with your agent now? Do you send him back into the field? Or wait to see if the smoke is clear? He's welcome to wander around NCIS until we clear this up. But I wouldn't recommend he leave even to go back to his undercover op, until we have the situation under control."

"Let's debrief them all. I need to know the specifics of your op and you need to know the specifics of mine. Maybe we can work together to get some answers. You're doing the bad drugs at exclusive parties, I'd assume. We've been working long-term on the jewel thief. Both perps travel in the same circles. If Interpol steps back we might just be able to make this a joint op."

Martin let his mind play over the information. "Tom, he's been undercover for over a year. I cannot let this op go down. Jet is very well placed in society circles in New York, Los Angeles, Miami, and DC. My man is the best… I'm willing to place him with one of your agents if she has the chops and chemistry with him."

Tom considered this. "Do you think you'll be able to get Interpol to back off? We could keep them in the loop; send them the information, but only the reports, no actual involvement."

Fletcher nodded, "They're running the majority of the investigation overseas. Paris, Nice, Monte Carlo. They're working with us for the American side of things, not managing us. Blumenthal is the man on Tobias' team for this op but they've stayed out of our problems. And with a pseudo military bent, they can't be involved by law."

Working through the problem in his head, Tom started talking out loud. "Ziva has more experience, but her interactions in that crowd were minimal. She stuck out in those situations as a foreigner. And yes, Abby is already established, having blended in well enough to fool even your agent. But are you sure this is the best course to work both of our ops?"

"No," Fletcher said, stark honesty in that word. "But I think we have a damned good opportunity with two people who have chemistry. I haven't seen your girl out in the field, but I know Gibbs in and out. He's infiltrated many places for us. He can handle most any situation and could help with hands-on training."

Listening to the other director's plan, Tom narrowed his eyes as realization hit. "So, basically, you want to put Abby back into the field with your agent. You want to put my best forensic scientist, who doesn't have enough experience to back her expertise in the field? Am I right? I'm sure the chemistry is there," he snorted, having seen the interaction between the two. "And I'm sure your agent could help her if she got overwhelmed again. But do you think that is the best course of action?"

Martin sighed, seeing Morrow poke holes in the idea. "Your girl has no training in the field. She could be trained…" He'd already seen the other woman, the actual field operative, and was sure she'd be extraordinarily beautiful undercover, but she had the look of a woman hardened by circumstances.

"Why don't we talk to your senior agents and mine? Franks, Gibbs, Fornell, you, and, me. Bring the girl in as well. Then we can debrief the rest of your people."

Tom sighed. "I agree on the chemistry part, and it would be a shame to pass that up. But my concern first and foremost is Abby's safety. If your agent can help to guarantee that her safety will be a top priority for him, than I don't see it being a problem. But I agree, let's sit them down. Then one of us, or your agent, can go down and talk to her, see if she's willing. I won't have her in a situation she doesn't think she can handle, Fletcher."

"Agreed, Tom. Get a conference room. And some menus. Sounds like it'll be a late night and that assistant of yours can order us some food. Treat from the FBI, as long as Gibbs' cover is intact."

"Sounds good, Martin. And I don't see there being a problem with your agent's cover. And since he was more than likely seen leaving the party with Abby, having her with him will probably aid in keeping that cover intact."

Picking up his cellphone, he dialed Cynthia's office extension. "Cynthia, I need you to order some food for us. Looks like we're in for a long night. You don't need to stay around after it's been delivered. But the FBI director and two of his agents, plus Franks, his team, and Abby will be staying behind. And Ducky may or may not be in the building. If you could check for me and order the food, I'll owe you one."

"You do, Director," Cynthia shot back. "Italian good?" She knew a place that would deliver several pastas and an antipasti platter at a moment's notice. As she waited for the director to answer, she texted Mellody and asked her to make reservations for two at Café Atlantico. They might as well take advantage of their evening.

Cynthia hummed 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' and rummaged in her desk for her going out clothes. Oh yes, she and Mellody could have a fabulous evening.

"Perfect Cynthia. Just charge the bill to NCIS. And make sure you order enough. I'm not sure how much the FBI guyss eat, but you know our boys can put away a good amount when under the gun." Calling over to Martin, he asked, "You and your boys like Italian food? Will that work for you? Cynthia has a place in mind that'll probably be quick and will definitely be good. Thoughts?"

"Yep, that'll do. A little food will help calm things down a bit, Tom." If only their wives were as easy to manage as their agents some days. "No dietary needs or restrictions for us. We're good with Italian."

Martin had seen Gibbs pack away pasta and Fornell was Italian.

~*~

After they had been dismissed, Ducky and Ziva made their way down the hallway a distance from the FBI men, close enough to keep an eye on them, but far enough away that they wouldn't easily be overheard. Ducky eyed Ziva, who had been quiet throughout and touched her arm. "At least our Abigail hasn't found herself interested in a criminal," he said for her benefit.

"Always finding the silver lining, Ducky?" Ziva said, smiling at her friend. "Abby cannot always have such bad luck with men, yes? One of them had to turn out decent - eventually."

Ducky wasn't so sure about that and just shrugged. "I suppose, my dear. What is your read on him now?"

"It has not changed. He is still an honorable man, a gentleman to Abby, a pugilist like myself. But I do not know enough about his character or his position undercover to make more assumptions."

Ducky nodded, giving Ziva's hand a slight squeeze. "I'm going to duck back to Autopsy unless Director Morrow requests my presence. Good luck and keep Mike in line, my dear girl."

"I will, Doctor. You should probably go home if you can. I have an idea that it will be a very long night," she teased, smiling at him.

He gave her a wink and a nod. "Very well then. You'll telephone me if anything of interest happens."

~*~

As Tom held his phone conversation, Martin moved out into the hallway and down the passage where Gibbs and Fornell were standing side by side. "You okay, Jethro?"

"Yeah, just a little banged up."

"Okay…tell me if you want to go after this legally," Martin said, squeezing his shoulder.

"No need, sir."

"Keep us appraised if anything changes," he said .Martin nodded and walked back into the interrogation room and Tom. He stood next to the other director, waiting for his friend to end his conversation so that they could move things along.

Getting off the phone, Tom turned to his friend. "Okay, we're on for Italian. God bless Cynthia. Since I hired her, my life of paperwork has been reduced dramatically. All the problems I had before have been smoothed out. She's a gem. And I bet you feel the same way about your Mellody. I'm thinking about sending Cynthia on a trip somewhere. Maybe when this is all over, we can gift both girls with a vacation somewhere."

"Might be worth exploring," Martin agreed with a nod and a smile. "They're pretty damned valuable and if you're like me, Tom, we don't tell 'em enough."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Finally making it to the sanctuary of her lab, Abby donned her lab coat and got to work downloading and running the photos the team had collected that evening. When one of Jet in his evening attire came up, she ran a light finger over his face on the screen before going back to work.

Sighing, she went over to her stereo to blast some tracks from one of her favorite groups. Settling back into her chair, she let the photos run while she looked into her microscope at her latest intrigue.

Tony noticed Abby wasn't there and as Ducky left the room, he called down to her lab. "Abby. Pick up," he muttered before he put the cell on speaker for McGee's benefit as well. Mike had disappeared again, probably to brood, but Tony wanted information and details and he didn't dare go up to Cynthia, so Abby was the next best bet.

When her phone started ringing, she felt her heart leap in shock. She'd been so absorbed in her search that the ring made her jump. "Hey, Tony!" she said, answering the phone, "What's up?"

"Hey, you. What's going on? Have you spoken with Mike? He decked the guy from the party and now we just learned he's a fed. Undercover, I guess. McGee and I are coming down for a gossip session. McTech here will text Ziva and Duckman and we'll have a party. Things are looking pretty wild in interrogation. The FBI director is there, Abby. And this Brooks guy…he doesn't look as bad as we thought he was. Maybe we owe you an apology."

Maybe they owed Brooks one too, but Tony wasn't about to admit that yet.

"I'm in my lab, running the pictures you guys took of the people entering the party tonight, seeing if I can't find a connection, somewhere. I was there, Tony, when Mike hit Jet. Ziva and I both were. He was…well, when you and Tim get down here, I'll tell you about it. It was frightening, Tony, to be honest. But anyhow, I can't wait for you guys to come down. And I don't need an apology, Tony. Never from you. Never from Tim. I just miss you guys, in a weird way. Plus, Bert misses you guys, too."

"McText 'em, McGee." Tony said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Let's get outta dodge, McPony. I'm feeling the need for a western film fest. What's your favorite western? You a Blazing Saddles kinda guy, or you like a real western?"

Texting Ziva and Ducky to meet them in Abby's lab, Tim said, "Well, honestly, after you made such a big deal about Gary Cooper, I went out and rented 'High Noon.' That one's probably one of my favorite westerns. What about you?" he asked, as they started to head to the forensics lab.

"Did you?" Tony beamed. "And I made you take the stairs that day, did I?" Tony frowned when asked what his favorite is. "McDuke, that's like asking Abby which of her babies is her favorite. Or Ziva which weapon she likes best." They stepped into the elevator and he waved his hands in an expansively broad gesture. "There's a great big world out there filled with movies, McGee. And I love every one."

"Well, if we're going for a film fest, you're probably going to have to limit the number we watch. Otherwise, we'll never get back to work." Pressing the button for Abby's lab, Tim leaned back and waited.

"John Wayne film festival, my place. Mel Brooks the next weekend. You bring the popcorn and some stuff to sleep in and we can share my bed. It's a king size, ya know…" Tony realized what he said and trailed off, gulping a little. When the elevator dinged, he couldn't help thinking "saved by the bell" and he stepped out, feeling a lot awkward all of a sudden.

Shocked, Tim just stood there, mouth gaping as Tony left the elevator. As the doors almost closed on him again, he lunged for the opening, hoping it wouldn't crush his hand. Thankfully it didn't and he was able to leave. Stumbling out of the elevator, he hoped his goof wasn't caught by Tony. He was still shocked, but didn't know what to think of that comment. So, instead, he left it alone for now and made his way to Abby's lab.

Stupidest comment ever, Tony kept telling himself as he hurried toward the lab, knowing his face was bright red. He hadn't meant for that to come out like it had.

"Abbs!" he said, almost desperately.

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed, turning around. "Tim! What? No Caf-Pow? Of all days to need Caf-Pow, you don't bring me any? I know I've had a few so far, but…" She trailed off, noticing the confused and reddened faces of the guys. But before she could say anything, her thought processes were interrupted.

"Do not worry," Ziva said as she came into the lab. "I decided to make a stop and get you one before coming down here." She started laughing as her friend pounced on her and gave her a hug. When Abby let her go, she greeted the other two. "Hello. Are you having a pom-pom down here?"

"A what?" Tony asked, momentarily distracted by the thought of psychotic cheerleaders slashing their way on his big screen and him cuddled up to Abby—not MCGEE! What the hell was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he wanted to go probing Probie's geek depths.

"A Caf-Pow, Tony. You know. My life blood!" she teased.

He looked up at the sound of someone whistling. "Saved by Mr. Belvedere," he muttered in relief. "Hey Ducky!"

"Anthony, Timothy, ladies. I just had a call from Cynthia. Did you know that the director has organized some food for us? It should be arriving shortly. I took the liberty of getting some coffee, and soda, and even a two liter bottle of Abigail's favorite."

Ducky paused, giving all of them a look, noting that Mike wasn't a part of this. "I gather that is our hint to stay put for the moment."

Grabbing for the bottle, she put it in her fridge since she was currently occupied with the one Ziva had brought her. "Thanks so much, Ducky. I didn't even know we were having a party down here 'til Tony called. And food will be great! I'm starving. Plus, if the Director let Cynthia order, it'll definitely be good!"

"Do you think so, Ducky?" Ziva inquired, wondering what was exactly going on upstairs. "I wonder what they are planning."

"Indeed, Ziva. They're bribing us with food."

"Well, we're easy that way," Tony retorted, coloring deeply. Did he have to make sexual comments? Couldn't he stop himself?

Ducky chuckled, wondering at Tony's unease. "Do you boys have some more comfortable clothing upstairs or in your cars perhaps?" They looked a bit uncomfortable in their tuxedoes. Ducky knew that Tony owned his, but McGee's had to be rented.

"Oh, yeah." Tony smiled, nodding. "Abbs keeps my bag down here so that I won't have to go out to the car. She keeps one for you, doesn't she, Probie?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tony crossed into the ballistics lab and grabbed his bag, closing the door and changing quickly into a pair of well worn black jeans and a long sleeved green T-shirt. He threw on a new coat of deodorant and a squirt of cologne and stuffed the tux shirt and pants into the bag. He'd get 'em dry cleaned later. That done in a minute flat, he emerged, sighing happily.

"Much better. You getting comfortable too, McBond?"

"Do you sit at home, thinking of ways to murder my name, Tony?" Tim shot off before going into the room Tony had just exited.

Quickly changing into some jeans and an MIT t-shirt, his routine was a bit similar as he finished getting changed. Coming out of the lab, he held out his arms and sighed. "Much better."

Hearing his stomach grumble with an echo from someone else's in the room, McGee asked, "So when's the food getting here? Anyone know?"

"Hey, Bond is a classic. It was a compliment, McNerd. Shaken, not stirred," Tony said in his best Sean Connery voice. He had no idea when the food was arriving and shrugged, looking at Ducky.

"She said in twenty to thirty minutes. Italian. We eating here or upstairs in the break room?" Ducky much preferred upstairs but he knew how much tonight's events had rattled Abby. They would all do whatever made her most comfortable. "I believe they'll want to speak with us about what happened with Mike."

Tony frowned, nodding, remembering that Abby said Mike and Ziva were there. He opened his mouth to speak, but was saved when Abby spoke.

"It doesn't matter, Duckman. But with all the evidence in here, we should probably eat in the break room. Don't want to accidentally get some crack in our pasta. I'll be back, babies. Keep working hard for Momma." Laughing, Abby grabbed up her Caf-Pow and headed to the elevator.

Turning to wait, she pressed the up button as the others filtered over to join her. She knew that she probably seemed a little high strung, and she was trying to come down from everything that happened. But she was grateful that her friends were letting her come down on her own, not pushing her to talk about what had happened or how she was feeling. Normally, she was the most open, sharing person in the world. But in that moment, she wanted to keep some things to herself.

Tony grabbed the extra Caf-Pow and soda and followed the others out, snagging his bag as well, watching as Ducky turned the music off. "Ducky, you really like Android Lust?"

"Sometimes, dear boy. It can be quite invigorating, Anthony."

Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Okkkay, Duckman."

Tony slid into the elevator last, still shaking his head and chuckling a bit. "You're an original, Ducky."

~*~

Martin followed Tom into a conference room and automatically took one of the heads, motioning Gibbs and Fornell to sit beside him. Tom had called Franks and they waited for him, Gibbs looking tired and a little…dreamy? Martin had never seen that expression on his face before. Fornell just looked watchful.

Martin poured himself water from a pitcher that was placed in the center of the table by a beautiful woman. "Cynthia, right?"

"Yes, Director."

"Good to meet you." He peeled off a couple of hundred dollar bills from a money clip and placed them in her hand, curling her fingers over them. "You and Mellody have a nice dinner somewhere, Cynthia. Make sure neither of you discuss any aspect of this evening's events with anyone."

"Thank you, sir," Cynthia gave him a smile then turned to Morrow.

"Sir, I have some of your private stock set aside. She wouldn't—couldn't—admit that there was alcohol on site, but if the director thought it prudent, she would bring some down. There are four different platters coming. An antipasti plate, Lasagna, chicken Parmesan, and fettucine alfredo. Cannoli and tiramisu for dessert. Coffee is brewing. After the food arrives, will there be anything else you require?"

Tom Morrow nodded at his assistant. "Wonderful job, Cynthia, as always. When it comes here, are you going to send some down to the squad room? Or maybe Abby's lab? I don't know where they are, actually. But I'm sure we can call and find out the location of the agents and Ducky. If not, we can call and get a couple of the guys to come and grab it." Settling into the chair at the opposite end of the table from the FBI director, he waited to start their brainstorming session. He knew that they needed to be able to salvage both operations. But he had to be certain that Abby wouldn't be put in unnecessary danger. "Bring some of what you mentioned earlier," he added with a wink and a smile.

"I'll do that, sir. They break the platters into two and I'll have some directed to the main level and the Major Case Response Team and I'll inform them. The other food and drink I'll have sent directly here. Anything else you need, sir?"

"Once the food has arrived, you're done for the evening, Cynthia. But in case something goes down and I need you, make sure you keep your phone on. Otherwise, go take Mellody out and have a wonderful time on us."

She looked up as Senior Special Agent Mike Franks slunk into the room. Cynthia had never seen him like that before. He didn't look beaten exactly but he did look very contrite. Cynthia looked at the battered man, then to Special Agent Fornell and finally to the two directors. She couldn't figure out the tension in the room but she would linger as long as she was allowed. It would make for some good gossip at dinner tonight.

"We'll both keep our phones on. Thank you, Director Morrow, Director Fletcher. Have a productive evening and enjoy the food, gentlemen." Humming 'Get This Party Started', Cynthia sashayed down the hall, a bounce in her step. It was late but she was almost done and she and Mellody would have a fabulous night that would start right when the food arrived."

She left messages at the MCRT members' desks and then went downstairs to await the food.

Morrow smiled fondly as Cynthia left. But as she was walking out, his expression changed as his most senior agent sat down, sulking.

"Director," Franks muttered, slipping into an empty seat away from the two FBI agents. He was pissed at himself. He should have known it wasn't as simple as a good man going bad like that. His gut had let him down, and his emotions and fists had sealed the deal. And he felt like an ass for it. "Director Fletcher," he continued softly. "Fornell and…Gibbs."

"Glad you could join us, Franks," Morrow greeted him, almost caustically and definitely sarcastically. "Cynthia has arranged dinner for us with a nearby Italian restaurant. Director Fletcher and I have decided to try and reclaim both of our ops, to hopefully combine them as a joint venture between our two agencies by possibly putting Gibbs back undercover with one of our people."

He had an idea that Franks would not support the idea. But at this point, his opinion mattered little to the director. "If we, as NCIS and the FBI, can guarantee her safety, we may be putting Abby back out in the field with Gibbs. With this gathering of our teams, we are going to hash out this endeavor, to make sure that all of the aspects are covered this time."

"No," Mike said succinctly. "Abby doesn't belong in the field, use someone else, Tom. You didn't see her after he…" He gestured to Gibbs. "Whatever happened between them shook her up real bad. Abby's not your girl. Use Ziva instead. Or someone else, like you told me earlier."

It was a mistake in judgment that Mike wouldn't make again.

"Mike, I may respect you in the field normally, but you lost the right to say 'no' when you attacked a man who was restrained and in our custody. Your presence here is to help guarantee Abby's safety by considering all aspects of our joint operation. Though we have yet to be briefed on Gibbs' actual involvement in that op, Ziva has far too much experience to be convincing as a companion to him in that capacity. And as you pointed out in our previous conversation, there is no one else available." Morrow was still furious with Franks' behavior and had yet to dress his senior agent as he wanted to. Instead, he would deal with him in the best way he knew how.

Mike set his jaw and glared at Morrow. "Fine. Then I'll just sit here and shut up." He reached for a case file and opened it, finding it was the op that Gibbs' wife and kid had died on. "You know I'll guarantee Abby's safety," he added after a few moments, his voice hostile. "But I don't trust Special Agent Gibbs," he said in a mocking tone of voice. "Far as I can throw him."

"How so, Franks? Because your gut was wrong for once in your life, you can't figure how to change your mind. That, Franks, is why your opinion isn't necessary, only your expertise. That and the fact that you punched him." In fact, Morrow wouldn't protest if Gibbs decided to return the favor and socked him back.

"Because the dirtbag shook Abby up," Mike said, growling. "Don't care who he was or is. He shook Abby up." He stood now, looming over Gibbs. "She's like a daughter to me. That bombing you were in will seem like paradise if you hurt her again."

Gibbs didn't even stare down the guy. He was tired and he remembered that Franks had gone to bat for Shannon and Kelly. When he spoke, it was in a low and controlled voice. "She knows her heart, Special Agent Franks. You might have put something into motion but you aren't finishing it."

"Sit down, Franks," Morrow ordered, his tone of voice brooking no argument. "You're lucky you're not on administrative leave right now, and that the FBI haven't pressed charges against you. You're on thin ice as it is. Don't help push yourself in. And last time I checked, Abigail is just fine. Nothing wrong with getting shaken up every once in a while. Now. Sit. Down."

Mike threw himself back in the chair, glaring at first the FBI men and then Morrow, and finally the FBI director, who was sitting there with a little smile on his face.

"Can we get down to business?" Martin asked, sighing. "We're working with Interpol on a jewel thief ring. Jethro…Special Agent Gibbs…has been undercover for nearly eighteen months, building his reputation in various cities around the USA. We also sent him to Monte Carlo and the French Riviera. His cover is as a businessman. Impeccable cover, we're very thorough. We need to break this jewel thief ring wide open and NCIS can't get in our way. Over seventy-eight million in rare gold coinage and jewels have been siphoned off in the last thirty-nine months. The very real concern is that they're being fenced and the money used to fund terrorist cells, both inside our borders and internationally."

Martin looked at Jet. "He's got a knack for being in the right place at the right time. We're getting close to having answers, may have this evening if…" He allowed himself to trail off.

Arching his eyebrow at his friend's double dig on his agency, Morrow responded, "If you had actually tried to inform a sister agency of an investigation in their territory? That's what you meant to say, right Martin? After all, the party tonight was held with a heavy Marine and Navy presence, was it not?"

"Wasn't a military ball, despite you people having a military presence, Tom." Martin shook his head with a smile. "We're not going to go back and forth on every detail, are we? Reminds me of one of our tennis matches."

Laughing, Morrow went into a brief explanation of NCIS' operation. "Ours is not so widespread, but of a concern to the safety of our military personnel. Some person, or persons, is lacing cocaine with a substance that causes convulsions and death. There have been eight reported deaths so far. We haven't discovered the substance as of yet. Abby was running the toxicology on the cocaine before she went undercover."

Since Franks had run the op without Morrow's knowledge of Abby's involvement, the Director now had to take the position of being in on that decision. "While she may be a bit inexperienced in the field, Abby Sciuto is a highly intelligent, highly capable agent, though her position is mainly as the forensic scientist for NCIS. In fact, she's the best I've seen in that position. Her undercover training may have been minimal, but she was well prepared and very dedicated to the mission."

Remembering Abby's expression, he went on, "She even went so far as to have one of her tattoos removed; a very visible spider web on her neck. Abby was quite attached to that tat, as she put it, but for the benefit of the op, she underwent the procedure. In her physical state, she then presented an easy mark for whoever was distributing the drugs. A Marine widow, in almost desperate straights, left alone in a room full of high-ranking military men. It was unfortunate that she instead attracted your agent. However, in the end, it may prove to be an advantageous accident."

"No NCIS presence advertised there, Tom. If I'm at fault, so are you. It wasn't a military event, as we just established," Fletcher shot back. "More civilians than uniforms there and you know it."

"You sent your forensic scientist who was trying to find answers on an undercover op? You made her make a permanent change to her body?" Jet asked incredulously. "Thought you always said these guys were top notch, Director. Not children playing with guns. I'm not risking my cover for an agency who puts their so called beloved friend at risk. Not risking the op, and sure as hell not risking a woman who means more than an op to me."

Jet stood, striding over to the coffee pot and poured a cup, acting as if he owned the place and this room. He needed to find control somehow. "I'm not having her hurt or used. All of you need to be crystal clear on that fact."

"Fine, then we are both at fault," Martin cut in. "Tom, how do we fix this? How do we make our operation about the mission and not a turf war?"

Leaning forward in his chair, Morrow shot out, "Just to be clear, Agent Gibbs, it was Abby's decision to have the tattoo removed. Abby's final choice to go undercover. She knew it was our only choice to stop these deaths. Someone is targeting our men and women in uniform and she did not want to have to collect any more blood and tissue samples from autopsy simply because of a tattoo."

Glaring at Franks, he continued, "Granted, she had help being convinced from various members of the team," he offered. "But she is no wilting flower needing to be left behind. She got you, didn't she? And despite you not wanting her used, you will have little say in her placement in the field should she decide to volunteer again. Especially now, with whatever connection the two of you have, as I've been hearing repeatedly this evening. She'll insist on being there, to partner with you since she was part of the reason your cover is at risk now." Tom stood now, glaring at the other man.

Jet turned on the NCIS director now and stalked closer, standing nearly toe to toe. "_My_operation. _My_ neck on the line. As my director will inform you, I'm nobody's pawn." He took one long sip of the coffee, knowing he was being insolent, but he was feeding into his need for being reckless and a little out of control.

"Until two years ago, I was a reservist. Before that, I served fifteen years in uniform. Enlisted. NCO. I worked my way up the ranks with blood, sweat, and tears."

Gibbs turned back to his own director now. "This agency only has one female scientist who can go undercover?"

"Stand down, Jethro," Fletcher said quietly but firmly, motioning to his chair. "Only letting this go on because you've had a hell of a day. Morrow is a friend and NCIS is a sister agency. And you will comply with orders."

He winced inwardly as Jethro gave him a defiant look for a few seconds before topping up his coffee and sitting next to Fornell. Gibbs was strung out right now and Fletcher didn't like it, even though he knew the reason. Jethro went so deep for so long that surfacing took time.

"I never took you for a pawn, Gibbs. I wouldn't have assumed a man Martin talks about so highly to be anything near a pawn. But unless you drastically misread Abigail, you would know she isn't one either. There is no one else more suited to fulfilling the need in this instance like Abby. But if you need to try and convince her otherwise, you can either join her with the rest of the team in the lab, or I can call down and request her presence here. Your call, Gibbs. We are trying to salvage these ops. And having you reappear with no feasible excuse as to your disappearance, or your bruises for that matter, doesn't seem to be the best course of action, does it?"

Gibbs flicked his gaze to Martin as Morrow spoke. He absorbed Morrow's words and stayed silent for a bit before speaking again. "My op doesn't need salvaging, Director. I have a lot of contacts and connections. I can make a case for being off the circuit for a few days. Sudden business trip or something. I'll just have to stay low, retreat to my place here for a few days in case anyone comes by the penthouse to check. If your op needs saving, the decision to help rests completely with my director. But I will not have anyone unprepared in the firing line, especially someone who gets rattled when the heat is on. We could both end up getting killed."

Mike saw his opening and jumped in. "If we put Abby in deep, like him, how're we going to have her do her magic? Are we turning forensics over to someone else? Don't like it. Abby is the best."

"Yeah, good. Because so am I," Jet shot back. "Martin, I'm not agreeing to a damn thing until I talk with her. Tell me where I find her."

Mike arched a brow. "So he gets more say in this than I do? Even though my people will be supporting him?"

Gibbs growled low. "And my neck with be on the line, not yours. Not most if your agents."

"Abby."

"Yeah, well. Did it sound like that was my decision?"

"No," Mike admitted.

Gibbs turned to look at the NCIS director, waiting.

Morrow wanted to laugh at the FBI agent's balls. Not many people would dare to speak to him that way, regardless of him heading a major federal agency. And though he didn't have to like the cocky attitude, Tom could certainly appreciate it. "Neither op needs salvaging. I could put Abby back into the field tomorrow. The part that needs salvaging, Special Agent Gibbs, is that we are running two ops in the same area. Doing that without coordination or cooperation between the two agencies can only lead to disaster."

Turning his attention briefly to Franks, he replied, "Don't be petulant, Mike. It doesn't suit you outside of the interrogation room."

Returning to the FBI agent, he continued, "As I told you, she is in the forensics lab. By now I'm certain the rest of the team you met today, including Doctor Mallard, our medical examiner, have joined her. They are a very tight unit and team. If you want to speak with her, you can either go to her there, or I'll call down to have her come up. Your choice."

Addressing the other director, Morrow said, "If there is going to be too much contention, then I'm scrapping the whole project. We'll just have to find a new way into the circle." Though Tom severely doubted there was going to be a more successful way in.

"Franks, other than the undercover op, have you made any progress on your investigation? Any leads? Or is Abby it?"

"Abby's it for now. I'll do some checking, Director." He stood up, glaring and pointing at Gibbs before storming out.

"Not my fault," Gibbs replied in a mild tone of voice. "I have nothing to do with the federal law enforcement game of telephone you people play. Or the fact that Special Agent Franks dislikes me. Tell me how to get to her and I'll talk with her. And if someone tries to kick my ass, at least it'll be a fairer fight."

"Jethro," Martin began, but he just shook his head. The agent had a dangerous look in his eyes and Martin knew when to back off, when to let Jethro come back to himself. "Need to find a way to settle down. Don't have the luxury of letting you have time to get back in agent headspace."

Martin watched as Franks came back into the room with a folder. "Eight dead, all dependents of high-ranking officers. One spouse, one step-child, six children ranging in age from fourteen to twenty-three. The officers are clustered in am area from southern New Jersey to Camp Lejeune, mostly from Norfolk north. Three of the victims attended parties, benefits, or the symphony within a week of dying. All eight had cocaine in their system. That's all we have, Director."

And admitting that really pissed Franks off.

"You sent Abby in…" Gibbs began in a furious voice.

"JETHRO!" Martin roared. "You are not her champion or her defender. If you don't stop questioning NCIS' motives, I will have you removed from this building and brought to a safe house until your bruises heal. And you will be under guard."

Gibbs' entire body stiffened and he glared furiously before looking away. "Yes, Director," he said in little more than a growl. "Tell me where the area she's in is, and I'll go to her.

Raising an eyebrow at Gibbs, Morrow was beginning to wonder if the agent was purposefully misunderstanding Abby's location, or if he was so caught up in his head that he missed it. "Forensics lab, Gibbs. If she's not there, check the break room or squad room. Food's on its way and it is quite possible they decided to change locals."

Fornell could only shake his head, because he knew, despite what their director had said that Jet was Abby's champion now. When she entered his life, Abby had triggered something in Gibbs, and that something would never rest in its need to protect what it had claimed. "Easy, Jet. Or we're never going to get out of here alive," he whispered. "And I know you want to spend some time with that little black-haired nymph downstairs. Won't happen if one of the directors eats you alive 'cause you can't rein it in."

"Where is the forensics lab, sir? You guys tell me this like I know the layout of this place. Squad room is where I was led in, right? Break room is where? And where is the forensics lab. This place is what? Three, four floors? No idea where anything is, not even the head."

Gibbs gave Tobias a roguish grin. It was the only thing he had left in his arsenal and he was feeling very off balance right now. He couldn't settle down right now, needed to see her, his entire body was vibrating with the need.

"Basement, Jet. Abby's in the basement, below autopsy. Break room's on the same floor as the squad room, same floor we just came from. Good luck," Fornell laughed, winking at his agent. "Don't get lost!"

Jet removed his coat, cummerbund, and bow tie, unbuttoning the top button of his tuxedo shirt. The cufflinks were over five thousand dollars and he hesitated a second before removing them and putting them in front of Tobias. "Guard these. FBI property, my friend." As was the tux though it'd been altered to fit him as if it had been made for him.

"I'm going to find, Abby. Might be a few minutes." He strode out, making his way to the elevators that would take him downstairs. He was glad he'd asked. He had no idea that there were two elevators and only one led to the outside.

Looking over to Franks, Fornell asked, "That's it? Really? Is there any link between the victims other than military families? Any background, school, store, anything? Was there drugs found in their homes or cars? Or do you just have a list of names?"

"That's it," Mike shot back, flushing. "Nothing between the victims. We have Navy and Marines, family of officers who were at Annapolis and others who became officers after going to Officer Candidate School. Some men served in war zones, others haven't. Some families have a lot of money and prestige, others their only claim to greatness is their military service. Some are married, some divorced, some widowed. Drugs were found anywhere from on their person, to in cars and homes, to at the workplace, in the case of the spouse. One tried cocaine the first time at a party. All ethnicities represented. You find another link, and we'll both know. My team has been pouring over theories for weeks and Tommy, you know they're the best."

Morrow raised an eyebrow at Franks' informal use of his first name. Deciding to overlook the agent's familiarity, he asked, "What about locations, Mike? Did they go anywhere similar? Attend similar events? Shop in the same stores or go to the movies in the same complex? Locations of their deaths? What about patterns those places represent? I know your agents are good. Otherwise, I would have them as members of my agency. But I need to know that all avenues have been exhausted and your next steps will be."

"They aren't even in the same cities. No, no similarities. No easy to read patterns. They didn't even only bank at Navy Federal Credit Unions. The only similarity is that they're families of officers in the military and those few have been to society events right before ingesting the drug."

"Which is what led you to do an op at the event this evening," Fornell concluded. "Could our two ops be related? Is it possible that the same jewel thefts coincide with the drug distribution?"

"You hear of any suspicious drug deaths in military circles happening internationally? We can get Blumenthal in for foreign military intel even though Interpol isn't involved in military operations. But for American servicemen overseas, might be an angle you haven't studied yet, Franks."

"Word hasn't crossed my desk about it being international, but I wouldn't be surprised. Have you tried that angle, Franks? Would this be a way of possibly finding a link in the cases?" Morrow was trying to bring his agent out of his morose, pouting state, if simply for the fact that Franks was a damn good agent, when he wasn't flying off on his own.

"Haven't heard anything," Mike growled. "I'll check with our agents before I leave for the night." It was a good angle and he was mentally kicking himself that he hadn't thought about it earlier. "Get me a list of cities where your jewel heists are happening, Fornell, and I'll cross-ref with the closest NCIS presence there."

Handing him a list that contained a rundown of the hits the suspect jewel ring had done, Fornell added, "Attached is also a list of places each of our operatives have made contacts in. Mostly, that has been handled by Interpol, with Gibbs using his contacts as a supplemental."

Mike glanced at the list. "I'll work on it tonight, Director." He could probably pull in some help from the boys but he wanted Abby to be watched over by the team and they were all exhausted as it was. "Do my best," he said with a weary sigh. He didn't even have the energy to have an attitude with Fornell or Gibbs.

~*~

Gibbs jammed the down button and waited. His face was aching and he knew he didn't look his best, but she'd seemed protective rather than disgusted by him. And the chemistry between them was sizzling. He'd never felt anything like it. Not even with Shannon that first time.

As the door opened, he caught a glimpse of her and reached in, snagging her wrist and pulling her out. "Just who I was looking for," he said before his mouth crashed down on hers.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

As the elevator moved past the third floor and the squad and break rooms and headed toward the fourth floor with the director's office and his conference rooms, the car was filled with groans of frustration.

"Who pressed the wrong button?" Ziva growled out, as she watched the lights flash by.

"Easy, Ziva," Abby teased. "We'll just have to press the button again when we stop. The right button this time.'

But when the doors opened on the third floor, Abby had only a moment when she turned around before spotting Jet on the other side. She was suddenly pulled toward him.

When his lips came crushing against hers in his own special kind of domination, she heard growls coming from the elevator behind her. She would have laughed if she had been free. Instead, the laughter came from behind her, from Ziva.

"Stand down, gentlemen. It's about time Abby had someone who wants to dominate her. Someone who wants to jerk her against them. Someone who wants to devour her like he is doing right now. Someone who wants…"

"Enough, Ziva!" Tim complained. "We got the picture…" he said as the doors closed on them.

Ducky quietly hit the level one button, hoping none of them saw his maneuver. It was nice seeing Abby getting a man's attention for a change. "Well, then, I guess we'll just have to wait until we rise again."

"Do women really want that?" Tony asked everyone in the elevator, focusing mostly on Ziva. "Even a She-Ra woman like you, you want that, Ziva? You want some guy to just…do that?"

When the elevator dinged on the autopsy level, Ducky gave them an innocent smile. "I seem to have caught a bit of a chill. Will you be dears and hold the elevator while I run and grab a sweater?"

Ziva smiled at Ducky's maneuverings, glad the two guys had missed his "accidental" button pushing. Holding the door for the doctor by stepping in the pathway, she looked at Tony as she answered him. "Oh yes, Tony. Some women really do want that. The Alpha male who takes what he wants, who grabs and holds onto whatever he needs. It can be very…arousing. But not all women want that," she hurried to reassure them at Tim's crestfallen look.

"Some women prefer the more gentle approach to courtship and even to love making. I find to prefer both sides of the bed, as it were."

Tony arched an eyebrow. Ziva not in control? Ziva wanting to be taken by a stronger adversary but then wooed. He gave her a smirk. "I'm equal parts Conan, Rhett, and Darcy, Ziva."

Ducky, too, arched an eyebrow, regarding Ziva with a small smile playing over his face. "And a man truly comfortable in his skin will adapt with grace and love to whatever his partner needs at any given time."

She was an enigma, Ziva, and Ducky was finding his senses quite aroused and intrigued. "A true renaissance gentleman loves the challenge and variety of a woman secure in her many roles."

"I think a true gentleman period, Ducky. As a true lady would in kind, at least one who lived for more than a stateroom." Turning to Tony, Ziva teased him, asking, "Are you offering, Tony? Because last time I checked, the only chemistry we create is when we blow things up."

Tony snorted and shrugged. He and Ziva were like siblings. They flirted sometimes out of sheer boredom but there was nothing there beyond a mild appreciation for another attractive body. "Dating you would be like dating my sister."

"If you had a sister, that is, yes? Because last time I checked, and I have checked, you have no sister."

"If I had a She-Ra kind of sister, yeah," Tony agreed, grinning. He glanced back at McGee and shrugged.

"What is a She-Rra? Is there a He-Ra?" Ziva asked confused.

Tony should have known that Ziva wouldn't have been exposed to the He-Man world. "There's He-Man and She-Ra. Twins. Brother and sister. Masters of the Universe cartoon series. McGee's first crush was probably She-Ra. She was gorgeous and she knew how to fight. And for a long time people thought they were a couple, which was kind of funny when you think about it but kind of disturbing in a way too. It was a comic book series that were made into cartoons in the '80s." Tony angled a glance at McGee. "You a fan, McGeek?"

"I was more interested in my chemistry set and taking apart the television than actually watching it."

"So it was a cartoon based on an incecstual relationship between universal cartoons?" Ziva was more confused than before Tony had started to explain. "And the American television system was okay with this?"

Tony laughed, shaking his head. "No, they were brother and sister, no chemistry. No incest. Or even insects. But people saw what they wanted to see. Some folks'll Brokeback anything or make characters be involved. Even Thom E. Gemcity has fans who want Tommy and Lisa together," he said, referring to the characters in McGee's books, 'The Continuing Adventures of M. Fredrick'. "And have you ever _seen_ the fanfic sites?"

"Are there people out there, breaking the backs of others? Should this be something we need to investigate? I have yet to hear about a serial killer singularly breaking the backs of the victims." Shaking her head to show her complete confusion, Ziva continued. "What are fanfic sites, DiNozzo? Is this a new ailment that I need to be concerned of your medical condition from the plague? Does it enter at certain sites on your body?"

Tony let out a frustrated growl. "Brokeback Mountain, Ziva,. The movie. Two guys in love, forbidden love. Won a lot of awards a few years ago. Fanfic is…fanfic. People write stories about their favorite movies or TV shows or books, change the plots or focus on characters that don't have an intense a relationship. People pair Tommy and Lisa together a lot, or Fred and Amy. Sometimes even Lisa and McGregor or Lisa with Drake, the kindly but handsome English doctor. And there's a huge presence of people who write stories and want Tommy and Fred together or even Tommy and MacGregor."

"Oh, yes. The book about the cowboys. Never saw the movie, but the book was not bad. I recommend it. The stories are essentially scripts, perhaps? Or versions, continuations of the general story arcs? So, these people would be fans of the show they're writing for, yes? And since very few shows are actually reality, writing additional branches to these arcs would be fiction. So, I should assume 'fanfic' is actually an abbreviation of 'fan fiction.' Does that make sense to you?"

"Exactly, Ziva," Tony remarked, wondering why she was talking it to death. "The cowboys." Tony rolled his eyes. "Best damn forbidden love story this century and you mention the cowboys."

"Well, that is what they were, were they not?" Ziva laughed at his frustrated expression.

Tony eyed McGee. "What do you think about fanfiction, McClancy? Does it bug you that people want Tommy and Lisa together?"

"It bugs me when people take a perfectly good story and massacre it. Yeah, there are some that are pretty good. Nice plot, well written. But most are just…just…awful! Massive grammar and spelling errors, big, BIG holes in the plot, just…gah. Don't get me started. New topic," Tim begged.

Tony grinned, clapping a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Sorry, McHemmingway." Tony leaned in close, whispering into Tim's ear now. "I bet you're a Fred and Amy shipper, aren't ya? The old hardened man and the younger whimsical woman."

Yeah, some of them were written terribly, but there were a few good ones out there. Tony'd discovered a few and had them on his author alert.

Tim had to lift an eyebrow at the way Tony talked about the ships. Seemed his partner knew quite a bit about the fanfic world. Interesting. Deciding to test that, he said, "Maybe, but I bet you're more of a Fred and Tommy shipper, maybe even a McGregor and Tommy." Too late, Tim realized what he'd said.

Tony gulped hard, eyeing McGee. "Not interested in Fred and Tommy," he said after a few moments. There was no way he was touching the McGregor and Tommy comment. It could only cause problems. And if McGee ever found the names of the authors on his author alert…

"Um…yeah," Tim said, not wanting to keep that topic of conversation going. It was too dangerous.

"Ducky, I believe the boys have talked themselves into a place they do not wish to be, yes?" Ziva said laughing.

Ducky arched a brow. "There is nothing wrong with reading a bit of homoerotic fiction, you know. It does not impact a heterosexual man's masculinity at all. Not that sexuality has anything at all to do with masculinity. Why, one time I was treating a royal marine, very…what was it you'd said? He man? Anyway, his boyfriend was the sweetest young man, about ten years his junior. They didn't work in the same division and they were both quite masculine men. Somewhat like McGregor and Tommy. So if you plan to go that way, Timothy, do it with the understanding that not only is there quite an audience for it, but that nobody will look at you any differently if that is the way the characters wish to be created. You are, after all, a slave to your muse."

Tony gulped. Every word Ducky said made him want to crawl in a deeper hole, but he bravely stood his ground, even if he never lifted his eyes from it.

"McBrokeback can write whatever he wants. Anyone who doesn't read it is an idiot."

"I'll…uh…take that into advisement, Ducky. Though I never really thought of it going that way…" Tim stumbled through. "Thanks, Tony. Really. I appreciate it." He'd never thought Tony would be a big supporter of his books; he'd always given Tim a hard time.

Tony shrugged, knowing his face was really red. "Any time, Probie." He snickered inwardly at the double entendre there.

Crisis averted, Ducky turned his attention back to Ziva. "And speaking of real world sorts of dating partners and my darling warrior here, you are an enigma, dear girl."

Confused, Ziva asked, "How so, Doctor? I would think that I am pretty much a simple person to figure out."

"Only if someone looks at you on a single level," Tony retorted. "For a sparring partner rather than a lover."

Ducky paused for a long moment. "My dear, if he isn't a worthy enough partner, telephone me if you might like to explore things with an older gentleman." Even though Ducky knew he wasn't her type, he had to mention that. He knew she had an attraction for men at least a bit older, and she sometimes flirted with Director Morrow, but he was elder even to the director and was essentially old enough to be the Mossad officer's father.

Feeling a little foolish for his diversion, he ducked into the autopsy suite, grabbing some Scotch instead of a sweater. "Thought we could warm up in a more inviting way." As he passed Ziva, he made it a point to give her a slow smile. She was a wise investigator and could connect the dots.

"You better be careful, Ducky. Someday, I may take you up on that offer." Ziva laughed warmly as she waited for him to return. When he smiled at her in an almost inviting way, Ziva found herself reevaluating the doctor. He was a charming, sophisticated man, completely opposite of the men she usually ended up with. Intriguing, she thought.

"In the elevator?" Tim quipped. He'd been drunk in odd places before, but an elevator? That'd be a new one.

Ducky chuckled. "If you insist, my dear boy, but I can think of more favorable places to drink it. But not better company to drink it with." He looked over at Ziva again before sliding his glance away. He was probably coming on a bit strong now. He looked at his Scotch longingly and tried to relax with his younger colleagues.

Still a bit confused, Tim asked, "Where do you suggest we go then, Ducky? Are we staying here? I don't know if that's a wise move, drinking at headquarters. Can we leave? We could go to someone's place. Maybe even grab our food before we leave."

Ducky sighed. "I suspect we're being kept here for a reason, perhaps myself to watch over the prisoner cum FBI agent and you all to give reports and statements of what happened. We can always return to Autopsy if you don't want to take a chance on being discovered. Though we all know Mike himself enjoys a tipple on occasion. As long as we don't get drunk, nobody would dare say anything."

Tony took the bottle and poured a little into the cap, savoring it. "Good taste in Scotch, Duckman. As long as we stay focused, we should be fine. Been a long night for all of us and we're strung out."

"Then Autopsy it is, Ducky. Can someone push the button so we can get the doors opened? I know you and Ziva have some interesting information to share about what went down in Observation." Tim was beyond curious, painfully so, to find out what really had happened between Abby and the FBI agent.

"Ah yes, it was a very interesting event there. In there, I mean." Ducky punched the button and they all tumbled out. "Yes, yes, very interesting indeed, young Timothy." Ducky gave Ziva an embarrassed smile. "Timothy, can you send Cynthia a message letting her know that we'll be down here and the food can be delivered here or you and Anthony can go collect it."

He led them inside and motioned them into his inner office where a small table and four chairs resided. Propping the large metal door open, he invited them to sit down and relax.

"Oh, I'm sure we can go get it. She's done enough today without having to deliver food to us. What do you think Tony?" Tim asked, watching Ziva take a seat.

"Yeah, sure," Tony agreed. "What're you drinking, Ducky? Beside the Scotch. Water? Soda? Caf-Pow? We can hit the vending machines as well. You want a Coke, Ziva?"

"A bottled water would be wonderful, Anthony. Shall I put the kettle on while we're waiting?" Ducky asked, directing his question to Ziva.

"Tea will be wonderful, Ducky." Looking at Tony, she called, "Water, Tony. Thank you."

Ducky nodded, putting his electric kettle on and filling it with his last bottled water. "English Breakfast or Earl Grey, my dear? You boys don't want any, do you?"

"I'll pass, Duck, thanks though," Tony said.

"Me too, Ducky. Soda or Caf-Pow will be fine," Tim added.

"Though we may be close to breakfast by the time of day, it is still evening to me. I will go with the Earl Grey, Ducky. Thank you."

Turning to Tony, McGee asked, "Think we should get Abby one? Don't want her to think we've forgotten her."

"She's got the two liter, she'll be fine," Tony assured, motioning toward the hall and jerking his head toward it with an exaggerated glance to Tim. "We're gonna exit, stage left for now."

Ducky watched the younger men leave and nodded in appreciation. "Great choice, Ziva. Earl Grey is my favorite. Do you take it with cream or sugar?" Ducky bustled around, preparing the tea before looking over his shoulder at her. "I'm delighted to have you in my lair, my dear."

"I take it as it is, Doctor. Nothing added." She laughed at his description of his office. "Your lair, huh? Do you entice unsuspecting women here to have your way with them?" she teased.

"Only the beautiful ones," he shot back, adding a splash of cream to his own tea and bringing them both over to the table. He sat beside her, watching her casually, trying to study and analyze her expression. "Do you think I'm discerning, a man of good taste and breeding?"

Picking up her cup, Ziva blew at the steam rising from the dark liquid and responded, "I think you are first and foremost a gentleman, Ducky. Since I do not know your family history, I can only guess as to your breeding." Taking a sip of her tea, she added, "But your taste in teas is exquisite."

"Then I would never lure unsuspecting women to my lair. They'd always suspect and come willingly," he replied, flirting with her with ease. "Double bergamot Earl Grey, Ziva. Premium taste and quality for a true lady."

"From a true gentleman," she acknowledged with a raise of her cup.

He toasted her silently, regarding her with a small smile playing over his lips. "This FBI agent intrigues you. Why?"

"I do not know, Ducky. There is something about me that recognizes the fighter in him, almost like a kinship. That is the best way I can explain it."

Ducky nodded, sipping slowly. "And your gut says that he is a noble fighter and not someone who will take unfair advantage of our Abigail?"

"Yes, my gut is saying just that. I do not see him as the type of person who would take advantage of someone he has a connection with like he has with Abby."

"Do you think it is a real connection then and not something manufactured by their unique circumstances, Ziva? You would be in the best position to know, having been undercover many a time in your history. Is the connection real for its own merits or simply manufactured by the situation and the adrenaline rush of being undercover?"

"I have seen the two of them together; I have seen Abby's reaction after her first encounter. No, this is not something easily attributed to the situation, Ducky. And yes, I have been undercover in more compromising positions than this, and there was never that kind of connection."

Ducky nodded. "Then I hope he's very good for her, Ziva. I think she needs someone, that she is through with being alone, lonely. If this man can give her what she needs, that connection will be mutually beneficial for both of them. I did hear, as you well did, that the poor man suffered quite the tragedy. A wife and daughter lost, wasn't it? Perhaps they both long for the connection they've found tonight."

He sipped his tea and leaned back, watching her, studying her.

"I can only hope that their new relationship, or whatever it may be, can fill the holes in both of them. Abby has been searching for so long. And that contact, of being whole with someone has been so absent from her life. Despite her cheerful disposition and her energy, there is always something so sad behind her eyes. Until today. Until she had a highly…erotic run-in with another undercover agent."

Ducky nodded. She had seen the change in Abby as well. "That look exists in all of our team's eyes. And yours, my dear. I do hope that you'll be able to let your guard down and let some lucky man in. Being alone in our line of work is neither fun nor soul satisfying. Having someone there in the good days and the bad is most necessary, Ziva. I despair of you and Timothy and Tony and Mike being alone."

He realized he was starting to sound like a mother hen and trailed off.

"And you, Ducky? Do you not wish for the same? To have someone there for you when you return home? You have one of the more difficult jobs here, dealing with the dead, and often the victims. How come you have no one at home?"

He watched her for long moments, trying to find the right words, in an uncharacteristically quiet moment. "Since Mother passed on, I haven't had any interest, Ziva. Dating can be so tedious, even for someone who enjoys the gift of gab like me. When one gets to a certain level, and with our job experience and the hours we keep…" He trailed off, sighing. "It takes a special woman, a rare breed indeed."

Hearing the pain in his voice, Ziva knew he missed his mother, despite the craziness she sometimes interjected into his life. She leaned over and grabbed one of his hands in hers. "And I am sorry for that, Ducky. She was a lovely woman. I am sure you miss her. But you are not old enough to sit around that big lonely house alone. You deserve someone who will make you happy. And I hope someday you will let yourself find that person."

"I hope I will, my dear," he replied, squeezing her hand lightly. "When one cares for a person for so many years, it does leave a void even if the end is expected, and in some ways, is a blessing." For many years, Ducky had cared for his mother and now that she was gone, there was a huge adjustment to make.

"And what about you? Such a beautiful woman to be wasting away with only work and fitness and martial arts training. Have you anyone special in mind? Maybe Anthony or even Timothy?"

A shadow passed over her eyes as she remembered the one who was supposed to have been. "It is not wasted time, Ducky. It is necessary for me to always be ready, no matter the situation. My training helps to guarantee that. Tony and Tim? Not likely. Our ships are not likely to pass in the night, Doctor."

"And it is necessary that you be fulfilled in all aspects of your life, Ziva. Your warrior skills are wasted if you don't apply them to all aspects of your life." He wondered for a moment what she meant with regard to Tony and Tim but then decided to just ask.

"What do you mean about Tony and Tim, Ziva? Do you not feel that they're worthy of you or that you are not worthy of them? They're two very handsome men, perhaps not the warriors one might expect you to be with…"

Ducky found himself trailing off as he regarded her.

"Oh not at all Ducky. They are both wonderful men. But I have had an emotional relationship with someone I was partners with, like I am partners with Tim and Tony. It did not…end well." Ziva was not one to discuss many aspects of her life that had helped to shape her, good or bad. Though with Ducky, she seemed to be able to open up more effortlessly. Something about the doctor put her at ease.

Ducky squeezed her hand gently then came around to wrap her in his embrace, his hand stroking through her dark hair for one moment before pulling away. "Make no mistake, Ziva. That was for my benefit rather than yours, my dear." He sat close to her, touching her knee with his. "I am sorry to hear that, my dear. And I understand your reasons for hesitating."

She wasn't usually used to overt expressions of affection, well other than from Abby of course, but getting a hug from Ducky was surprisingly comfortable. When he pulled back, she leaned back in her chair. Shrugging her shoulder, she took a sip of her tea instead of answering.

And this made her very uncomfortable. That much was clear to Ducky. He nodded in comprehension, not saying a word but just observing her. She had no idea that she revealed even more than she thought she was hiding with her evasive techniques and motions. He wasn't fooled by the conflict he saw on her face and in her eyes. She longed to have a romantic partner; she just wasn't sure how to go about getting the one she wanted.

"Who is he?" Ducky asked. "And does he have any idea?"

"There is no 'he,' Ducky, not any longer. More like an idea, a hope of someone in the past," she said cryptically. "I just do not trust others excessively, which makes it difficult to allow anyone into my life that did not begin by necessity."

"I understand, my dear. And I'm very sorry that there is nobody for you. You are a very worthy and beautiful woman, my dear. I hate to think of you withering away. You need someone with whom you can be real, someone who will love you as you deserve to be loved and someone you can be vulnerable with."

"Do you think I am withering away, Ducky?" she asked, looking down at her body. "I would think that my physique is a prime example of a woman's body."

Ducky took a good long look and gave her a smile that was complete masculine approval. "I meant your soul, Ziva. Your physique is as perfect as any I've seen."

"Why thank you, Doctor," she said, giving him a smile of her own. "But do not worry, my soul is intact."

"But it is lonely, Ziva. I can see it in your eyes. When was the last time you let a man in? Was it the one who was lost?" Ducky was aware he was pushing but he couldn't help it, he needed her to know that she was not alone, despite the way she closed herself off from others.

"You need love too, my dear girl."

"Yes, I know, Ducky, and it is lonely. But best to be lonely than in a position where something of myself is lost. And I do have love in my life. I have my friends, who enrich my life with enough love…for now."

He regarded her for a few long moments, nodding but not pushing beyond that. He had been where she was once upon a time and all the advice in the world wouldn't have changed his world view.

~*~

In mere moments, before she fully realized what was happening, Abby was left alone in the hallway with Jet, who was indeed devouring her. Clutching him to her, she was almost afraid of letting go, afraid someone would interrupt them again.

Jet took her hair down and tangled his hands in it, his body pressing against hers, causing her to bend backward slightly as he kissed her hard and passionately. When he finally came up for air, his breathing was ragged and his thighs were cramped. His entire body was coiled and he was fighting the urge to grind against her, to see how far he could push her and how responsive to him she was.

"I need you," he whispered against her mouth. He knew his mouth had to be as smeared with the remnants of her lipstick as hers was and if his eyes had that hazy look like hers did, they were both in trouble.

"I want you and I need you, Abby. This isn't over, is it?"

Now that she'd been with her friends, her feelings might have changed…

When he released her mouth, her breath came out in desperate gasps, her chest heaving from the adrenaline coursing through her blood. Rubbing one of her legs against him, needing to feel more, to drive them both further, she gasped, "Not over. God no! Not by a very long, long shot." Bent back like she was, Abby clutched at his shoulders, but more from desire than from necessity.

Her black hair cascading over her shoulders and behind her back, she let one hand creep up and run through his silver hair, her nails scraping lightly at his scalp. Against his lips, she returned, "I need you, Jet. My body is screaming for you." To show him, Abby arched against him, needing to feel his passion against her moist heat.

"God…" She was going to be his undoing. In a desperate bid for control, as misguided as it was, he turned her around so that her back was to him, his mouth moving over her neck, hard cock grinding against her ass and both hands on her, one squeezing a breast and rubbing a hard nipple through both her bra and T-shirt and the other slipping up her thigh, but not quite touching her core yet. He'd save that for when they were alone.

"Mine," he whispered against her earlobe, knowing they had to stop, that there were cameras all around them.

"Yes, Jet. Yours," she gasped, as he spun her around. He was grinding against her from behind, hands torturously moving over the most sensitive parts of her body. And how he knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss, where to bite that would drive her absolutely crazy, she couldn't figure out.

Instead, she moved against him, her ass rubbing against the rigid cock pressed into her. Her head falling backward onto his shoulder, she tried to give him better access, groaning, "I want you take me, Jet. Right here. Later. I don't care. But I need to feel your body against mine. It doesn't seem to matter that I don't know you at all. My body knows you. My soul knows you."

"Not here. Someplace where we can be alone. Without cameras. And not like overgrown teenagers groping each other."

Seeing the wisdom in that, Abby couldn't help but retort, "But it's so much fun to live a little dangerously. Don't ya think?"

He laughed. "Don't you think we've lived dangerously enough today?" He motioned to his face and then trailed a finger over her throat.

"Not the kind of danger I'm craving all of a sudden." Even though her body shook under his touch, when he motioned to his face, the sight of his earlier beating served to bring her a bit back to reality.

It took supreme effort before Jet wrenched himself away, panting, cock so hard it grossly distended the front of his pants. He felt like he was a wild animal controlled by lust and need and hunger.

"Kind of danger that sometimes follows me," he told her. "Especially on an op like this one. I don't know that you're prepared."

"You better know now rather than later that I'm a fan of danger, Jet. I happen to enjoy living on the edge. What would I need to do to be prepared?" She'd already gone so far to ensure her part of the investigation. And now she was worried, with good reason perhaps, that the powers that be might see her reaction to Jet as a weakness in her ability to continue to work on the op.

He sighed, decided to be blunt and honest with her. "Maybe this time you bit off more than you can chew, Abby. They want to talk to you, want to bring you in on the op. Deep, deep undercover, leaving your work and world and family behind… For god knows how long. They want us to work both ops. Together."

Cynthia silently fanned herself, watching from the alcove, unseen. She was going to have so much to tell Mellody tonight. These two were on fire and she just hoped nobody got burned. Unable to help herself, she walked toward the elevator, knowing someone was taping this and that she'd have to do damage control before it got onto the NCIS network.

"Abby! How are you?"

Abby had stumbled a bit when Jet had let her go, but quickly righted herself and turned around when she heard her name. "Cynthia?" she squeaked in surprise. "I didn't know anyone was there…I, um…I…" She really didn't know what to say, having been caught making out with Jet like a pair of randy teenagers.

"It's a good thing someone was," Cynthia said, clear annoyance in her voice. It was the only way to deal with what she'd seen. She couldn't admit that she wanted a silver-haired man like that one, roguish and bruised, or maybe one with eben less hair and a low, sexy voice. "Perhaps you should do your audio-visual magic before everyone sees what I have on the NCIS network." Almost of their own volition, Cynthia's eyes trailed down Abby's body and focused on her hardened nipples and then the massive bulge in the man's pants that the hands he jammed in his pockets couldn't hide.

"I'm waiting for the food," she explained lamely.

Jet saw the woman watching them and stepped slightly in front of Abby, protecting her. "Was that a threat? Were you threatening her?"

"No," Cynthia said, gasping at the malice in his voice. "Just warning her. You guys shouldn't have… Not here…" She waved her hand, looking at Abby for help.

"Easy, Jet. Easy. Cynthia's a friend. She didn't mean anything by it. She was only trying to help." Abby pulled back on his arm, trying to focus his attention on her, though she was strangely touched and turned on even more by his need to protect her. "She was only trying to warn me, to warn us, about who could be watching, about who could be walking up on us. I want to be with you, Jet, but not in the middle of a hallway with cameras on our every move."

Gibbs half turned, nodding. "All right. I…" He shook his head and took a couple of steps away, digging his hands into his hair and fighting to calm his body down. He signed that he was giving her time with her friend and looked at the window at the river.

She bit her lip as she watched him walk away, wondering if he was having a hard time coming out of his undercover persona. She'd seen Mike and Tony acting like caged animals after being pulled off an undercover op suddenly. Knowing he'd have to return to that world only too soon, she looked at Cynthia, "I can't alter the video feed, Cynthia, you know that. It's a federal crime and I'd rather keep my job. I'll just have to tell Morrow, see if he'll remove it. Or at least help make sure it doesn't spread. Can you help me with that? To make sure it doesn't go viral?"

"I'll talk with him too, Abby. Be careful, please. I don't want you in the gossip network." Cynthia glanced over at him. "I assume that he is the reason why the director of the FBI is here." She gave Abby a gentle hug. "Be careful. That man looks like he could make you commit murder without either of you blinking. I've never seen you like this, Abby. I'm worried. You're shaking…"

"Cyn, I've been in the gossip network since the first day I started here," Abby laughed, trying to make light of something that had been painful before. She loved how she dressed; her clothes reflected her personality. But it had been painful to hear her coworkers mock her, though she may make fun of it now. "And you'd be shaking too, Cynthia, if he had grabbed you and kissed you like that. Trust me."

"Yeah but not with your own sex tape. I know all the Hollywood starlets have them but that doesn't mean my friend Abby needs one." Cynthia remembered how the gossip network had been all aquiver once Director Morrow hired Abby just out of her master's program. But everyone had grown to respect her and this was not going to impact that. Cynthia would work double time to make sure it didn't.

With Cynthia's comments, Abby felt so grateful. Grabbing the woman to her in a fierce hug, she whispered, "Thank you, Cynthia."

She chuckled nervously, looking at Abby. "Who is he? He's not your usual type…"

Looking over at the man in question, she almost giggled, saying, "Oh, I know he isn't. And that makes it kinda exciting too. His name's Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Jet . He's undercover with the FBI. I guess we were running undercover ops at the same time. And things just kinda exploded. Which caused a few problems. I mean, you saw an explosion just now. But he's a good man, I know he is."

Holding up her hand, she stopped her friend from interrupting. "I know what you're going to say. 'How could I possibly know someone I didn't even know existed more than a few hours ago?' And you'd be right. Except…I just know. My gut, Cyn. My gut is telling me that he's someone I can trust. Plus, the Director of the FBI vouched for him. And that's no small thing."

Cynthia shook her head and shrugged. "I have no room to be throwing stones, Abby." Abby knew about her completely inappropriate crush on a coworker and they both were aware that it would never happen.

"Please! No one's throwing stones. You doing okay with all that?" She was concerned for her friend. Crushing on someone who impossibly out of reach was generally painful.

"Not all agents are good men, Abby. Be careful, honey. He looks like he's very commanding and in control."

"Oh I know, Cynthia, and I'll be careful. And honesty, I don't mind the commanding in him. It's kinda nice to be able to say for sure that I'm the girl in the relationship, you know?"

Cynthia shrugged, angling them away from the cameras so that their lips couldn't be read. "He doesn't wear his ring any more, and his wife screamed at me when I phoned her earlier. Security has stopped letting her in. But he's still married to her and I won't be the cliché, Abby."

Cynthia knew exactly what Abby meant. So many of her boyfriends and dates had been metrosexual and not at all commanding. She hankered for a leader. "You're lucky…he seems like quite a man."

"I'm so sorry, Cynthia, but I understand not wanting to be the other woman. That's not any kind of place you deserve to be. I hope this works out in the best way for you." Dragging her eyes over to the man, she whispered, "Yes, yes he is."

"It's hard working so close, spending so many hours with him," she said with a sigh. Cynthia, Ziva, and Abby spent some quality time together, usually with Chinese or pizza. She was saddened that their time as three single women seemed to be over. Something had changed and Cynthia could see it.

"He makes you burn, doesn't he?" Cynthia asked wistfully.

Hearing the wistful sound to her voice, Abby tore her eyes away from Jet. Cynthia looked sad all of a sudden and Abby didn't fight the urge to hug her forcefully again.

"Don't worry, Cyn. It's all going to work out. But don't wait around for him. You deserve someone who can be with you, now. Not someone who makes you wait around. You're too gorgeous and amazing for that."

Sighing, Abby continued, "Yeah, he does make me burn. Slowly. Quickly. Like lava and a forest fire, all in one. I don't understand it." Giving her friend a cheeky smile, she finished, "But I sure am liking it."

"It sounds like he is pretty special, Abby. You tell me if he gives you any trouble, okay? I know people…" Cynthia winked at her friend. "It's hard, you know, when someone means so much to you. Mellody and I are going out to dinner but our cells will be on…you call me if you want to talk or anything. And make sure mine doesn't stay up all night subsisting on coffee and adrenaline." She sighed, knowing that she would stop back before she went home, just in case Tom needed anything.

"He is, Cynthia. I'm not sure why, but he is special to me. But I'm kinda eager to find out why." She laughed lightly, smiling at her. "I'm sure you do, lady, I'm sure you do. And I will, on both counts. When I have a free moment, when this is over, I will call you. I promise."

"You'd better," Cynthia shot back.

~*~

Director Martin Fletcher reached for the folder of Gibbs' painful past. "Let my man, Tobias here, coordinate with your agents, Tom. Maybe he'll see something they haven't. If your girl agrees, I'll have my agents bring over our case files. We can't continue to keep Jet here for an extended period of time, too much of a chance for his cover to be compromised. We'll install him in a suite somewhere with a couple of agents."

"Don't like sharing," Mike growled, looking at Morrow, wondering if his boss' anger at him was going to make him end up leaning more toward the FBI's wants and needs rather than NCIS'. He wasn't going to lose his op to a turf war.

Ignoring Mike's kindergarten comment about not liking to share, Morrow wanted to clear a few points of his own. "I'd prefer it if Franks and Fornell headed the joint operation, despite my agent's earlier behavior. Otherwise, I have no problems with bringing Tobias into the fold. I don't see any reason for Abby to not agree. And if she does stay on in her undercover capacity, where do you expect her to go? In what capacity is she going to enter with your agent?""

"Franks and Fornell it is." Martin wouldn't give Fornell any chance to object, and he knew damn well that in Fornell's shoes he'd be yelling out that he wasn't interested. Martin's mind started working.

"We need to see who your girl spoke to tonight. How airtight is her identity? Could we form a new one for her? Jet is in deep. I don't think he's seen his house, his bank accounts, or even his driver's license in over a year. I intend to keep it that way. Abby couldn't just come here to work and then go off to parties at night. There is no way I'd authorize my boy to be put in that dangerous a situation. They'll need to set up shop somewhere, apartment rental, someplace, maybe near where my man is. If you want to bring a couple of your agents along, we can do that as well. Personal assistants. Business associates. Those things can always be explained away. But the wrong person seeing the gorgeous girl they saw at the White House one night pulling in to the Navy Yard the next could be the death of my man."

Tom turned to his senior agent. "Franks, you're the one best able to answer that. Other than McGee who escorted her in and Gibbs, who did Abby have any contact with? Was her identity well established? Or can we do what Fletcher suggests? I agree that it would not be safe for either of them, to have Abby return to NCIS during the day. This may need to be a complete undercover operation for her as well. I would suggest McGee and Tony as the backup agents. They have both served undercover as support personnel for a major op. Having them in as hotel employees, bellhops, hosts at restaurants should work again. McGee's presence would also help to enable us a way of searching out bugs or wire taps."

"Damned if I know. Ask the girl. McGee and DiNozzo lost sight of her and I only had audio and not visual. She set her own ID up and she's good. Damned good."

Mike didn't like this idea one bit. "You're breaking apart my team and leaving me and Ziva to do all the leg work here? On two ops? Am I understanding that right?" Mike knew that McGee and DiNozzo wouldn't be able to go back and forth as well.

"If she had spoken with someone, wouldn't you have been able to hear?" Tobias commented sarcastically. "If she's that good, will it hinder adding her as a partner to Gibbs' undercover work? I know she's the one who set it up, but do you believe she's good enough with the FBI's help to be able to dig her undercover persona in deeper?"

"Damned if I know," Mike snapped back. "And yeah. We didn't have audio on her speaking with anyone else." Her mic had been garbled by the necklace but he wouldn't admit that. "But how do I know who saw her or whose eye she caught?"

"Mike," Morrow warned, reining in his attitude. "We're trying to work cooperatively, you two. Do try and extend that to this meeting. And Mike, it is not a farfetched idea to think that the head of an operation might know that information. And if you don't, perhaps McGee, David or DiNozzo do, maybe even Gibbs. We'll have to have a debriefing of them, including Abby, of what happened prior to the crash of our two agents."

Returning to Mike's previous concern, Morrow sought to explain further, "You and Ziva will not be running two ops alone, though I am sure you could handle it if I asked. No, you will have Agent Fornell and possibly Sacks, I'm assuming." He looked to Fletcher for confirmation.

"Four people for two ops," Mike muttered, shaking his head.

"Tobias," Martin said quietly. "Dial it back. I need you focused." He paused for a beat and then looked at Tom. "Tom will keep me informed but you need to answer to Director Morrow as if he were your immediate superior. He'll keep me informed throughout the operation. But he and I won't tolerate pissing contests or turf wars. You both understand this, as senior agents. I hope…"

"Yes, Boss," Fornell answered, knowing cooperation was important to the success of the dual mission.

"Good," Morrow replied. "The less piss I have to do deal with the better. And you'll be piped in directly to MTAC to keep you updated on all aspects, Martin."

"Don't like it," Mike shot back. "But fine. Fine. Whatever you two guys want, we'll do. But I'm not running Ziva ragged. Won't do it, won't happen." He turned to Fornell. "And you better be able to keep up."

Martin rolled his eyes at the antics of the agents jockeying for position. He and Tom were beyond that, the agencies coexisted well together. "I know, Tom. I appreciate it." His stomach let out a rumble and he chuckled. "Food should be here soon. Food then debriefing, going to be a late night, men."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Mike waited almost ten minutes before he headed out in search of Abby. He saw her and Cynthia standing together, Gibbs watching over them both even though he was pretending to look at the window. "Abby!" Mike started to say, noticing how Gibbs was right at his side. "Back off, Rover."

Seeing a situation that could possibly blow up, Abby gave Cynthia a quick hug and a promise to call when things cooled down and went over to where Mike and Jet were standing. Stopping next to Gibbs, she looked to Mike and said, "Easy Mike. I think there's been enough turmoil tonight, don't you? Can't we just back off for a little while?"

"He doesn't need to guard you like I'm an enemy, Abby," Mike ground out, watching Cynthia waving at Abby. The elevator dinged and a man pushing a cart was admitted.

"He doesn't have much experience with you not being an enemy, does he, Mike? The only really recent interaction with him, you busted his face. I'd think you'd be satisfied that he felt that protective about me. I'll be safe with him, when I go undercover. I trust him, Mike, and I wish you could feel the same."

Mike grunted, refusing to answer Abby, refusing to give either of them the satisfaction. He was feeling ganged up on from within the agency. "I'm going back to the conference room. Meet me there."

"Mike, don't do that. Don't go feeling persecuted. Can't you just…let it go? Just this once? For me?"

"Fine," Mike muttered, sighing. "Don't like him, Abby. Don't like him at all." He couldn't help saying that, letting Abby know his stance hadn't changed.

"I know, Mike. I know. But you did once. And for me, can you at least pretend to respect him while the agencies are working together? I don't know why, but he means a lot to me. Almost as much as you do, you big turd," she teased him, and punched him in the shoulder.

Mike shrugged. "Maybe, Girlie, maybe." If anyone could get him to get along with the dirt bag, it'd be her. But he wouldn't cave easily. That wasn't his nature.

"Well, that's more than I expected, but not as much as I'd hoped. So, it's pretty even then." Abby gave him a quick hug then, not liking that they were uncomfortable together or that the situation they were all in had put them at odds with each other.

He patted her back. "Go to the conference room, Girlie. I'll be there in a bit." He gave the man a stern look. "And don't let anyone get anything up on ya." That said, he made his way back to his desk where he ran a search on Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He wanted the man's entire military career at hand before he went any further and so much as a minor infraction would be reported to Tom Morrow. Mike was not going to allow Abby to be in the clutches of anyone less than completely honorable.

Jet watched the woman struggling with splitting the food and went over to help, grabbing one of the trays. "How are you splitting this?" he asked her.

"Oh...Abby? Can you call McGee? He said he and Tony and Doctor Mallard and Ziva are eating in Autopsy. If you could take one of the trays each and set them on a desk, that would be wonderful. Thank you," Cynthia said, surprised that the man was so willing to help.

"No problem, Cynth," Abby called out as she walked away from Mike's retreating form. Picking up her phone, she hit the speed dial for Tim's cell.

Gibbs helped the woman divide the food and gave her a small smile. At least this one didn't seem so hostile toward him. "Do you want me to take that back to the conference room? I'm sure you've had a long day."

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you. They'll pick up the cart in the morning." Cynthia turned to look at Abby. "Night, Abby. Call me…"

Waving at her friend, she mouthed, "As soon as I can, your number's the first."

"Alone again," Gibbs said, leering, but she was on the phone. He shook his head, amused despite the ache lodged deep in his groin.

Closing off her phone with a click, she turned to him. Abby blushed a little when she saw the look on his face. "Yes, I guess we are," she said, smiling, a bit unsure of what to say.

"Want you," he told her quietly. "You're coming undercover with me. We're going to be together. As partners in and out of bed. You ready for that?" He was, in a way that he hadn't thought he'd ever be after Shannon….or in the many years since.

She stood in front of him, peering into his eyes. "I want you too, Jet. And I'm ready, for inside and out. Granted, I'll need some more training…outside that is," she said, her blush deepening. "To make sure that I'm on the same page as you. But the question remains, are you ready? I'm not like most girls."

"Good, because I'm nothing like any man you've met before." He brushed her hair back, stroking her temple with a thumb. "I'm more intense and more dangerous than anyone in your past."

His touch sent tremors through her body, making her want to play with fire, to play with his danger and intensity. Whispering, she said, "Promise?"

He pinned her against the wall again, grinding his hips against hers. "That's a promise, Abby. You're damn right that's a promise." His mouth found her neck and he nuzzled it. "You got rid of a tattoo? Why'd you tattoo your neck?"

"G...good," she stammered out, moaning as she felt his erection press into her. The heat between them was something she'd never felt before. And while she may seem out of her league, out of her realm of experience, Abby was having too delicious of a time learning.

Gasping as his mouth moved over her neck, a spot that never failed to make her knees weak, she said, "Yeah, it didn't seem like it would fit into the crowd I was supposed to blend into. My neck? Because I didn't think the spiderweb would look good anywhere else." She knew her explanations didn't make any sense. But how could she be expected to when she felt like his touch, his mouth on her skin, could make her climax in that instant. Hell, he could probably just whisper her name and she would.

He chuckled, mouth wandering over her neck slowly, taking his time with her rapid pulse. "You didn't think about career limitations or anything like that at the time, beautiful?"

He smoothed his hands over her hips, angling her body against his for extra friction. "Not a teenager, but you make me feel like one, Abby." He was dangerously out of control. There wasn't time for this. It was such a bad idea, but he couldn't keep his hands off her.

"If my career would be affected or limited more by what I looked like than the job I did, it wouldn't be a career or an employer I would consider being a part of." She arched against his hips as he pulled her against him. Pressing her hands to the muscles of his back, she moaned, "Definitely not a teenager. God, you don't feel like a teenager."

"What do I feel like, Abby?" She was pliant against him, molding to his body perfectly, melting against him in a way that felt so damn right. And when they came together—soon—it would be amazing. This went beyond pure male/female attraction and into something deeper and more elemental. His soul craved her.

"Hard. Hot. Power. Delicious." Moving against him, she sought some kind of relief. She needed him, needed to feel him hard and naked under her hands, driving against her. Pushing her head against him, she moved his face closer to hers, her lips playing along the edges of his. "I need you, Jet. Soon. I need you please."

"I know. Trust me, I'm ready for you, but we can't do this here. As it is…" He shook his head, focusing and forcing a little distance between her. "We keep doing this, keep teasing each other. It isn't going to ease the attraction or arousal between us. Just make us ache harder." He glanced down at his pants and gave her a shrug, smirking when her eyes tracked down his body as well. "See?"

"I don't know if I'm able to ache any harder for you, Jet. I really don't. Anything more and I'll explode. If you're trying to make it worse, you're doing a great job. Because right now, all I can think about is unzipping your pants and releasing what you're not doing a very good job of hiding."

"We keep dodging bullets. Don't want to be shown on video to all." His damn knees went weak when she talked about releasing him. "And when I lose control we'll be in a bigger mess."

He had to be the stronger one here. He had to be the one to maintain control. "Soon," he said, his voice twisted and distorted with his need. "Soon… Let's get in there and get it over with so that we can be together and feed this need."

"I think I'm going to enjoy it when you lose control. But for now, we'll temper the explosion. But then later…" she tempted, leaving the later up for interpretation. Gesturing, she said, "After you, sir. You first," since she was the one still pinned to the wall by his eyes.

He chuckled, nodding and deep breathing for a few seconds. He had to tamp down his reactions or else he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything but her.

~*~

Tony and Tim were on their way to the elevator when Tim's phone rang. "Food?" Tony asked hopefully, his stomach letting out a long growl.

Tony watched McGee as he spoke briefly to Abby and then hung up. Tim seemed pretty raw today and Tony wondered if he had feelings for Abby.

Shutting off the phone, Tim shoved it into the front of his jeans. "We're good to go, Tony. From the sound of it, I think your stomach'll be pleased," he teased.

Tony managed a grin. "Good. I'm starved." They'd worked the entire day on the case and then Ziva had helped to get Abby ready while he and Tim had dressed. They hadn't eaten anything since essentially breakfast and Tony was starved. As soon as the doors opened, he looked at Abby, checking her over. "Everything kosher, Abbs?"

"So kosher, the rabbi's still in the building. We've got a ton of food, guys. And from the sound of your stomachs, it seems we need it. And yes, Tony, I'm fine. More than fine. Fine as wine. Now, you ready for your food?"

"Always," Tony said, taking a good hard look at the guy. Mike had battered him and under the lights, the bruises really stood out.

"Hey…Brooks…" Tony began. "You okay?"

Brooks arched an eyebrow at him and nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He motioned to the cart and then looked at Abby. "Did you want to spend some time with your friends or… They want us in there soon…"

"Well, I…" she looked between the two groups, Tim and Tony, then to Gibbs. The decision, though awkward, was no question for her. "I'll go with you, Jet. If they need me in there…" if_ you_ want me there, she thought.

"They need you," Jet assured, warmth in his voice. "I'll bring her to you guys as soon as I can," Jet promised, meeting the younger guy's eyes first and then the older guy's. "The two directors, Tobias Fornell, Franks, and I are meeting. Hold your own in that testosterone storm, okay?"

"We'll all get together after," she said, including Jet in that. Abby seriously doubted she could leave him alone after all of this. What would happen if she woke up and found out that she really hadn't fallen down the rabbit hole? "Hey, I work with an agency that is almost entirely male! Except for Cynthia and Ziva, who's a warrior anyhow, I don't have a lot of estrogen to balance the storm out. I can handle a little testosterone."

Tony watched, realizing they were a unit now that everything had changed. "See ya, Abbs," he said through a voice roughened with emotion. "Come on, McGee. I don't want…"

Seeing the awkwardness in her friends, Abby said to Jet, "Give me a moment." Running over to Tony, she tackled him by jumping into his arms. "You're a big dork, Anthony DiNozzo. You know I love you and Tim best. So, don't get all weird with me."

Squeezing him as best she could, she jumped down and tackled Tim next. After the hugs, she settled her feet on the floor. "We've been through a lot, the three of us, the longest on the team other than Franks. We're family, and don't you forget that. Got it?!" she warned.

"Got it," Tony said softly, but he knew there was sadness shining in his eyes. "Can we go now? We're hungry boys who need sustenance." He tried to keep it light and teasing but knew Abbs could probably see right through him.

"Hm… don't believe you. You can't go until I know for sure you got it." She crossed her arms under her chest, a stubborn look set on her face. "I don't like what you're thinking, mister. Just because someone like Jet comes into my life, doesn't mean that you are going out of it."

"Didn't say so., But things will change, Abbs. You know it. They already have. Don't have to like it but I accept it," Tony told her softly. "I want you happy just…" He shrugged. "Don't want it all to change."

"Things always change, but we won't. We will always be a family, Tony. We'll always be the same."

Tony glanced at the FBI guy. "Okay, Abbs. We'll always be family."

"Pfft," she let out. "You're not going to win, you know? I'll wear you down 'til you like it," she said, teasing him. She wanted a smile, even if it was just a little one, to let her know they'd really be okay.

Tony gave her a small smile, knowing it was what she needed. "Sometimes it is good enough to let the guy win, Abbs. Especially if she thinks of him as a big brother."

"When will you learn that I never just let someone win, Tony? So, you might as well get used to it. Now, go eat. Have some quiet time with the guys; we'll come down when we're done with the big honchos." Abby bit her lip. "They're sending me undercover, I think, Tony."

"They are? We'll see about that!" Tony would argue that until he got blue in the face. But this wasn't the time. Gathering himself for Abby's sake, he nodded, kissing her forehead. "Never let anyone push you around, Abbs. Got it?"

"Not even you, Tony?" she teased.

"Not pushing when I do it, Abbs. It's gentle love taps and nudges. You know that. Remember it."

"I could never forget it, Tony. Even if I wanted to." Smiling up at him, Abby wished she could reassure him that everything was going to be okay. And she wished she was as sure as she tried to sound. Because while her gut and heart were crying out that what she had with Jet was real, her head was still telling her to be careful. She hugged him one last time, saying, "Now get. Tim looks like he's wasting away."

Tony crushed her to him, hanging on. "Abby… I love you. You don't forget that, okay? Whatever happens, know how much I love you. And I'm always nearby if you need me."

"Tony. Of course I know how much you love me. And I love you too. But you're scaring me. You're crushing me, but you're scaring…not that I mind the crushing…" Looking up at him, she asked, "You're not dying again, are you?"

He pulled away, shaking his head. "You're gonna go undercover. For god knows how long. We won't be able to talk, maybe for months or longer. I just…I'm gonna miss you, Abbs."

She bit her lip at his words. Abby hadn't fully realized all that she was leaving behind. She knew she'd have to cut off ties with her family, but this was Tony, this was Tim. She saw them everyday. She hugged him tightly again. "Oh Tony."

"I'm gonna miss you, Abbs," he repeated, cuddling her tight. He motioned McGee closer to. "She needs a hug, Probie. From both of us."

"I'm going to miss you, Tony. I'm going to miss you both so much." When Tim put her arms around her back, she teased, "Yay, an Abby sandwich!"

"We know, Abby," Tony whispered into her hair.

~*~

Tobias was on the phone to his daughter and ex and while he was occupied, Martin crossed to Tom. "You think we can control them? My man usually isn't so brittle. He's been under for a long time."

"We can only hope and to use our influence the best way we know how. But if your man is as…on the edge as you're saying, we can only pray Abby'll be a good influence on him. Maybe she'll help to soothe his instability. Women generally have that affect on men, even over-excited ones like Abby. We have our best on this op, Martin. If anyone can come out successfully, our people can," Morrow concluded with more confidence than he actually felt.

"He isn't unstable, Tom. He's just…been under a long time. Better part of three and a half years he's been under on a full time basis. No girlfriends, very little physical contact with anyone who knows him. This is a shock to his system and his emotions and your girl shook him up a bit. He'll come around, recenter, refocus. Give him time." Martin paused. "And what about Franks? Do you think he'll come around and settle in or are we in trouble?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Martin. I didn't mean to say he was unstable. I only meant that being undercover for such a long time can wear a man down, make him doubt the man he is. I have no doubts, if you do, that he will center himself again. As for Franks," he began, hesitating. "He'll come around. He's ego's been beaten as badly as what he did to your agent's face."

"Gibbs knows who he is, Tom. You saw the pain in his face when Franks trotted out his dead family. He knows. Don't think he can forget it." Martin had a theory that Gibbs was so good undercover because he wanted to forget his pain and his family and just be normal for a while. "Your girl will shake him up but I think that is just what he needs."

"And he seems like he will be a good influence for her, more balanced than the guys she normally goes with. Who knows? This may turn out to be quite a beneficial accident."

"Stranger things have happened," Martin remarked with a small smile. "Like the way your eyes lit up when the beautiful assistant of yours walked in…" Martin trailed off, knowing that Tom would say something if he felt he could.

"Humpf," was all Tom would say. Martin was a good friend of the family. He didn't need to know that the relationship between Tom and his wife was as strained as it was. He was in a last ditch effort to save the marriage, doing the counseling and the outings with friends, like the one he had planned earlier with Martin and his wife. But the woman he lived with was no longer the woman he had married. That woman was long gone.

"Man sometimes needs visual distractions," Martin said, assessing the situation and look in Tom's eyes and knew he had to back off. "NCIS sure does employ some beautiful ladies," he said, affecting a more casual tone. "I know they're competent, but you have to admit, they're extraordinarily beautiful as well."

"Ha, don't let them hear you say that, Martin. They'll take offense, and I don't need any more sexual harassment suits on my hands. Though, I will agree on their beauty. However, they are more than competent, Marty. Far more."

"I know that, Tom. Lucky break that you got Ziva David. She's one hell of a powerhouse. And Cynthia…" He trailed off. "Keep her close, my friend." Tom probably didn't know that Martin knew about his wife's tranquilizer habits, but their wives talked a lot and his was observant. The Morrow marriage was on the rocks and had been for some time.

"I know, my friend. I know. I don't plan on letting any of my team escape me, and I know you feel the same about yours."

Martin looked over at Tobias. "Some of my best men are here, Tom. I know you'll treat them well. I trust you." What he didn't say was that he didn't trust Franks to keep Jet and Tobias safe and in line. "I can have Blumenthal work with you as well, Tom. He may face some stresses and couldn't be directly involved in the arrest of a military man or woman, but he's sharp and he could help." And having Interpol there could make the turf war a little less obvious for Franks.

Tom could see the obvious benefits of having an agent from Interpol on the team. Nodding, he said, "If you think he will be able to blend with the group, I do not see a problem. Your agents will be treated with the same respect and consideration as the rest of my agents."

"He's a good man. Hadn't had any trouble blending in or making a niche with my people. No excessive ego. No excessive attitude." Martin rested a hand on Tom's shoulder and squeezed. They both knew that their bond was more than a political partnership. They were friends from their school days. And that friendship and bond and courtesy would be extended to their agents. "I'll get Blumenthal here tomorrow then. Sacks can run things from my building."

"Great, Martin. Sounds great." Morrow patted his friend on the back, thankful for the camaraderie they were able to keep through out the years. "Now we will get to the dinner Cynthia's ordered for us and work out the details and problems of our joint op."

"And find a way to dial our boys down. Their egos can't rule this."

~*~

Gibbs followed Abby down the hall, Jet turned to Abby. "Before we go in there, I need you to know something. This is as real as it gets for me."

"Being undercover, yeah I got that. I promise I will do my best to make sure not to ruin the op again. Promise," she said. Holding up two fingers together, she added, "Scouts' honor. Even though I'm not a scout, and I'm a little too old to join now anyhow. But I was never really one for the girl scouts. Not my kinda uniform." Suddenly remembering about her hair, she pulled her pigtails back into position, wrapping the bands around the bases.

"Not undercover. You. We may be playing parts but this is real, Abby." He pressed a finger against her mouth. "This—us—real. Don't let that get lost in the details or if you get overwhelmed. I'll be your anchor." Let me be more, he added silently, even though he knew he was the one who would likely throw up barriers.

Her dark green eyes were lost in his deep pools. She couldn't speak from the intensity of the moment. So, she signed. Real, she told with her hands. Even as captivated as she was, the playful part of her peeked out as she flicked his finger with her tongue.

He bit off a groan and shook his head. "You like getting burned, don't you?"

She smiled against his finger, loving that she could get him off his center as easily as he did to her. "Depends on who's doing the burning, Jet."

"Two can play that game," he shot back, his mouth moving to her throat again, where he nipped slightly. "You have such pale skin. Have to watch myself and make sure I don't mark you as mine. Even though you are…"

"You don't have to watch yourself. There are plenty of places you could leave your mark, Jet. Places I wouldn't mind feeling you against." She ran her hands through his hair, dipping them lower to tease at the flesh beneath his shirt.

"Not in your office building," he warned, forcing himself away. He was already raging out of control.

"You sure?" she asked, complaining. Nothing else mattered anymore, nothing but the feel of him against her skin, the taste of him on her tongue, the sound of his voice in her ear. Every part of her was crying out for him, needing completion to what the two of them had started.

"Positive. Later…back wherever we're taken or go…All night. You and me." The word "forever" almost slipped out before he reined himself in. "I know…trust me, I know. We have to keep our concentration and get through this. Then it can be completely about us."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Jet. Otherwise, I just might burn up, right here." Sighing, she closed her eyes, trying to focus, wishing she could get the thought of his lips on hers out of her head. "Guess we should go back in, huh?"

"We come bearing food. They'll smell it, start circling like sharks." He pushed the cart inside and took a deep breath,

~*~

Tony stood silently after Abby and the Feeb disappear and then scooped up half the food and waited for McGee to do so. "Kinda jealous. She seems…settled."

Following Tony with the rest, Tim asked, "You mean Abby with Jet? Yeah, I guess so," he mumbled, still not really willing to admit to the new relationship his friend was developing. "But do you really think it's wise, Tony? It's not like he's in the safest position right now. And they're dragging Abby undercover even more? I don't know." But in the end, he did see how much…calmer Abby was now. She wasn't the frantic girl he was so used to colliding with.

"I hate the idea, McGeek. But we have no power and you know it. The two directors are calling the shots. Not Mike, not us, probably not even that Jet guy or Fornell. Abby probably has more power in this and I guess we have to hope she does the right thing."

"But then the question becomes the right thing for whom? The op? The directors? Her? The FBI agent?"

"For her, Timmy. For her." He deliberately used Abby's pet name for McGee, trying to establish a rapport, a closeness that Tony knew he needed. Not to mention what he thought McGee did as well.

"Well, we're her family. We're just gonna have to make sure that she does. And if this guy's what's good for her, then we'll stand behind her. If not…" he let the threat hang in the air, knowing that Tony needed no more explanation.

"Damn right," Tony muttered. "On your six, Probie. In whatever you need, my friend."

"And I'm on yours, Tony," he answered.

Tony turned, watching McGee for a long moment before he nodded, a small smile playing over his mouth. "I know."

The elevator doors opened in front of them and Tim stepped inside. Waiting for Tony, he commented, "This stuff smells great. Cynthia made a good choice tonight."

"Cynthia is good that way," Tony retorted with a smile.

"Cynthia's always good in those kinda ways. She seems to know more about this town than we do."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Martin looked up as Gibbs and Abby came inside, both of them looking strained and tense. "Everything okay?" he asked Gibbs in an undertone as he helped with the food.

"Yeah…fine. Are just the five of us meeting?"

"And Franks."

Gibbs winced, nodding. "You're not going to get him to go easy on me."

Martin rolled his eyes. "I'm aware, Jethro…I'm aware." He started unloading the large catering portions with Gibbs, working quietly side by side with his friend. "You coming down or still keyed up?" The question was rote; he could see Jethro was almost vibrating with nervous energy so different from the calm, cool, collected way when he usually was under fire or pressure.

"Working on it," Gibbs allowed, moving back to his seat and watching Abby. Martin turned to watch her as well, knowing she was an enigma.

As the guys set the food on the table, Abby started flitting around, opening containers, setting out plates and plastic silverware. Once she had everything set up, she wiped her hands together and said, "We're ready."

Gesturing to the FBI agents, she said, "Guests first."

"Toby, get off the phone and start eating." Gibbs growled good-naturedly. He scooped up some salami and olives, lasagna, and a little fettuccine alfredo. Unable to resist the sweets, he put a large portion of tiramisu and two cannolis to the side. Seeing that the coffee was finished, Gibbs went over and poured himself a cup, wishing he had his thirty-two ounce mug nearby.

He nodded to Abby. "Your turn."

Smiling at his healthy appetite, Abby moved after Jet to pick out her food. With so many delicious choices, she decided to just grab a little of almost everything. She only wished she'd remembered to grab her Caf-Pow on the way up. Setting down her plate next to his, she pulled her chair a little closer to Jet as she sat down, hoping it didn't look too obvious.

He rested his hand on the back of her chair, fingers tracing over her shoulder blade as he ate. He barely paid attention as the directors and Tobias grabbed their food. "Not drinking anything, Abby?" he asked in an undertone.

Unconsciously leaning closer to him when she felt his fingers on her skin, she said, "My normal drink of choice isn't here. But some coffee will be okay. Be right back." Slipping out of her chair, she went back to where she had set up the drinks. Pouring a cup with several spoons of sugar, she made her way back to her seat, sliding in.

"What is your normal?" He asked, sipping his coffee. Being close to her and establishing a rapport felt relaxed and real and nice. He knew it was the calm before the storm. They'd need to be debriefed and some sort of strategy established—and soon. But for now this was a break he'd gladly hang onto.

Absently, she wished he would touch her again as simply as he had before, but she was grateful that they seemed to get along just as well without the sexual tension they had in the hallway. "Caf-Pow. My drink of choice is Caf-Pow. Do you think we'll be able to get some when we're undercover?"

"Caf-Pow?" he asked, thinking about it and picturing a soda cup. Her expression was deeply concerned, and he realized it might be hitting her hard. "Extra caffeinated soda? I'm sure we can work it out, Abby. We want you happy and comfortable. They'll get you some of your favorite clothes from your house, and will arrange to have your pets or plants taken care of. You're not without a net here and the team is our team. FBI or NCIS, they're still in place to make sure we succeed and do so safely."

He pulled her close, tucking her tight under his arm. "You'll be okay. My men have done this before and yours have done a lot with undercover ops, even if they aren't joint ops with our men too. I promise you that it'll be safe and run seamlessly."

Snuggling in close, she turned and looked up into his eyes. She loved the feeling she had under his arm. Smiling, she said, "I know, Jet. I trust you. I trust my team. And I've worked with Fornell before, many times. I trust you to take care of me. No pets, only some plants. But I don't know if my clothes will work, will they? I mean," she said, gesturing to her current outfit. "This is generally what I wear. I know we haven't worked out the details yet, but I don't think I'll blend in well with these. I tend to stick out."

"Let them figure it out. You can wear what you want inside; they'll put together a wardrobe for you to wear outside." He motioned to the two directors talking. "They're probably working out our cover story now. Hope I can keep you at the penthouse. It is phenomenal. The views of the Potomac are amazing." He gave her a wistful smile. "It isn't home but it isn't too bad either." And with her there, the ache would be less, the loneliness less painful.

"But, if you're forced to be away from what you know and love for so long, a penthouse is probably a nice place to lay your head," she said, agreeing, teasing him lightly. Turning her head into his shoulder, she whispered, "And thank you, Jet. For trying to make this easier on me. I know they probably didn't make these kinds of concessions for you, but thank you. With you there, I think I'll be fine…well you and a Caf-Pow every now and then."

"You want to be all alone eighteen hours a day or with me?" he shot back, knowing he knew the answer. He rested his hand on her head when she pressed it against his shoulder. "You'd be surprised. This isn't me." He motioned to the designer clothes, the haircut that was much more precise and longer than his barber ever created. "They set up an entire life for us, not just a name."

Afraid to look at him, she asked tentatively, "How do you do it, Jet? Be someone else without losing yourself?" She was confused at his question. "I hope you're not losing faith in me. I'll be able to do this. I promise."

"Not at all," he whispered, stroking her hair. "I just want you to know everything you leave behind. You're leaving Abby back here and you have to play a role. All the time, even when we're alone. I don't want you to be overwhelmed. I wouldn't choose this road for you." He was selfishly glad he'd be sharing it with her but he didn't dare admit that yet.

"But if I hadn't chosen this road to start, Jet, I wouldn't have met you. At least, not like we did. We may have talked on the phone if our agencies worked together, or smiled in passing, but nothing like what happened tonight." Abby grew a little sad when he started talking about leaving herself behind. She liked who she was, liked being the crazy one no one knew how to take seriously.

He angled his head down at her commentary. She was the best damned thing about the entire mission. "I'm surprised our paths didn't cross beforehand," he admitted softly. At least she seemed to be realizing that things would change in huge ways.

"Yeah, I'm surprised too. I've worked with the FBI several times before, even with Fornell a couple times. But I've never heard of you before today. And now it looks like we'll be…working quite a bit with each other."

"I'm going to miss everyone. I know I am. Franks. Tim. Ducky. Jimmy. The director. Ziva. Tony. Especially Tony. He's like my brother, only better. And my family. Will someone be able to tell them? Could Tony go back to New Orleans to tell them in person?" She thought about the next question and asked, almost to herself, "Who will I be then, Jet?"

"Before you go under, I'm sure you can speak with your family, but you won't be able to tell them what you're doing. Nobody outside of these walls can know that." Missing people and things was so hard. It wasn't the material possessions he missed as much as the pictures and the house itself. Some days he could still feel his family in the hallways, the echo of his daughter's laughter within the four walls.

As for who she'd be, he couldn't even begin to make that assumption. "Hopefully they'll be able to work you into my identity. You'll still be Abby deep inside but you need to put her in a figurative box. Switching back and forth never works."

She looked up at him when he talked about her family. "Thank you, Jet. I would just like to tell my parents that I'm going to be okay. The thing is, it has to be over the agency that provides communication for the deaf. That is how I learned to sign; both of my parents are deaf."

Frowning, she teased, "They better put my cover in with your identity. Otherwise, where's the fun or the benefit," she finished, winking at him. "Remember, you promised…"

"Not only working together," he said, his voice low and sultry. He didn't know how they'd work it out but he knew they would. "They'll figure out a secure line," he promised, not admitting how he knew sign language. "Have any brothers or sisters?" He didn't know why he asked that, why he was trying to learn more about her at this juncture. Maybe because she knew about Shannon and Kelly.

Gibbs noticed that Toby turned away, giving him and Abby some privacy. "I have some pull with my director and you have some with yours. I'm sure we can make a case for our…chemistry."

In reality, he knew that they had great chemistry and that the directors would take complete advantage of that. They would be a unit, no matter how hard it would be to work out the details of their now joint op.

"Oh, I hope it won't all be working, Jet. I'm hoping to have a little time alone…with you. You promised after all," she said in his ear softly. Leaning back, she said, "I have a brother by the way. You?" She didn't mind answering questions about herself. She kinda liked that he was interested in her beyond their heat and chemistry.

And boy, did they have some heat and chemistry! She'd never experienced anything like this before. Despite the room full of high ranking and highly intelligent members of two federal agencies, Abby was finding it difficult to not throw herself at the man holding her.

"Yeah, Director Morrow loves me; he'll listen to me. I think everyone in here is well aware of our chemistry. We won't need to make too big of a case for it. But I hope they'll take it into account."

He just shook his head. His family story was too complex to get into. Maybe someday, if he could let her in. Then maybe he could explain to her why Tobias and Emily were more family then his blood father, who he talked to a few times a year if that.

"My family isn't…any more. For a lot of years." That was all he'd admit to at the moment.

He regarded the room, glad that Franks wasn't there. "A blind man can see our connection, Abby. Not losing that to anyone. We'll be together. We have to be. I won't accept anything less, and like it or not, I have some pull here too."

"I'm sorry, Jet. I didn't want you to get upset. I was just curious." She realized she'd stepped over an unseen line, though the blunder probably also had a lot to do with the family he had lost as well. Just because Abby was used to being an open person, didn't mean that everyone else was like her.

"And I won't worry. I trust you and I trust the men we work for. And I'm not going in this completely willing to do whatever they want. I have to be with you for this to work, for the op to work, for us to figure out what this is between us. I'm not worried."

"I'm not upset," he told her softly "Just…keyed up." Instead of being settled, his mind was going everywhere. "I don't know about NCIS, but I trust my director with my life. I have for many years. And Tobias is a brother to me. Your director and mine seem to be close. And I….trust you."

It was a huge admission for him. He didn't trust easily and he suspected that she knew that.

She could tell how much that cost him, that admittance of trust in her. Cupping his face, she looked into his eyes, trying to find a way to still his racing mind. "Thank you," she offered. "Thank you for trusting me, even though you really have no reason to, not after what I did to you tonight. And yes, I trust Director Morrow with my life, with your life."

"Tonight has little to do with us. Just how we met…" There was a lot more he wanted to say but not in front of the directors and not when Franks could just stroll in at any time.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Mike waited a full five minutes before he returned to the conference room. None of his searches had turned up much on Gibbs but he had a few calls out. The FBI was protective of their man and had hidden his true occupation from anyone who might be poking around. A desk job in human resources for the FBI was a joke; anyone who saw the man would know that. Mike sat down a few seats away from the FBI agents, determined to be only as polite as he had to be to keep the peace.

Shutting off his phone, Fornell said, "Sorry about that. Wanted to say goodnight to my daughter and we ended up having a full conversation on what she did in school today." He always missed his little girl. But sometimes, it was a pain in his heart to be away from her.

"How is she?" Gibbs asked with a small smile. "Emily is my goddaughter, closest thing I have…" He trailed off, knowing everyone at the table knew his history. "She's a great kid."

Somehow he and Tobias had made their friendship work and Diane had grudgingly accepted her ex-fiancée as godfather to Emily. He had a close relationship with the little girl and they all managed to coexist well. It was the part of being undercover that had cut the deepest. He hadn't been able to see her in a long time. He'd been able to do an encrypted videoconference every so often, but he didn't dare do much more. He wouldn't put that little girl in danger.

Beaming at being able to talk about the only true light in his life, Tobias replied. "She's doing wonderfully. Gets more and more beautiful every time I see her, which is never often enough. Smart too; excelling in all of her classes. But she misses her uncle Jet. You'll have to promise and come over when this is all done, spend some time with her. You did promise to take her horseback riding again. She hasn't stopped talking about the last time you did."

Gibbs swallowed hard at the unexpected rush of emotion. "You should have put me on with her, Toby. Miss her too. A lot. I promised her a couple of late birthday presents. Maybe you, me, Emily, and Abby can…" He froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Had he just added _Abby_ to the equation? He looked at Toby, wide-eyed, not entirely sure how to proceed without causing World War Three.

Abby turned in her seat to look at him, shocked by his statement and confused by his expression. Trying to smooth over the awkwardness, unsure if his expression meant he regretted including her in that grouping, she turned back around and said, "How old is your little girl, Special Agent Fornell? Do you get to see her often?"

"She's…uh…sorry, she's ten. And no, I don't get to see her nearly enough." Tobias was so confused at the undercurrents. Was Jethro that far gone that he was already including this woman in personal outings? Interesting.

"That's a great age!" Abby exclaimed, smiling over her insecurities. "And I'm so sorry you don't get to see her enough. That has to be hard." Taking a sip of the wine, she added on the spur of the moment, "I was so curious at that age. If she'd ever be interested, I could show her around my lab, show her how all the gadgets work. She might get a kick out of it. And then it'd give you two an excuse to have more time together, like a fieldtrip!"

"She's beautiful," Jet added, regaining his equilibrium. "I don't have a picture of her…can't…But Toby carries one around. Show her, Tobias." Jethro blinked rapidly, trying to settle himself down. Usually for a week or more after an op he was in the basement with his boat and his bourbon and his family pictures. This was a shock to the system and had to be why he was acting this way and letting his guard down so thoroughly.

"She's brilliant too…" he said before trailing off. But something Abby said had him speaking up again. "She won't be able to see the lab for a long while. Undercover means no work environment. No home either." He wasn't sure she knew what it was like to be that deep under and what the consequences would be.

Looking at the picture Fornell had proudly produced, Abby commented, "She's beautiful, Agent Fornell. And I can see from her eyes that's she's intelligent. I cannot wait to meet her." Passing the photo carefully back, she said, "I know, Jet. I meant for after…for when the op is over. I'd like to show her around when the op is over, if Agent Fornell is alright with that."

"Of course, Abby. I'm sure she'll be excited to meet you and explore the lab. She's always taking things apart and asking questions. Too many questions," he said, in mock exasperation, though everyone could tell he loved the questions almost as much as he loved his daughter.

"Not too many questions. What is it I always tell her, Toby? You can't learn unless you question." Gibbs leaned his head against Abby's, the ease and comfort he was taking from her warmth relaxing him as much as thinking about Emily. "She helps me do projects around the house. I build, like to work with my hands." It was one of the many things he'd had to give up when going undercover. Something he missed.

"Simple guy. All of this is a new world to me." What was unsaid was that it was one he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"You may enjoy simple things, Jet, but you are anything but a simple guy. Dangerous, remember?" she said, quietly. "And I've had some experience with you liking to work with your hands."

Louder, she addressed the FBI agent. "Toby? That's cute. Do you let people call you that? Or only close people or people who wanna tease you?" Abby smiled at him, softly. "You can probably tell I like asking questions to," she said, winking at him.

"Yeah, Jethro, you keep saying that the next time she bombards you with a hundred 'why's',' one right after the other." In truth, he loved his daughter's inquisitive nature. He just wished she'd ask a question other than just 'why' sometimes.

"Wish she would. I miss that. Was worse when she was five or six though. 'Uncle Jethro, why is there air', 'Uncle Jethro, why is the sky blue'., 'Uncle Jethro, why does my bunny twitch her nose'. The whys are cute because she wants to know the answers and you can see her learn almost by the minute." Gibbs gave Abby an indulgent smile before he continued since Tobias had conveniently not answered Abby's question..

"I call him Toby because we've been through wars together, both literal and figurative. I don't know, he might kick your ass if you call him it."

"Then you need to come over. I'm sure she's got a head full of whys just waiting for you. And when she gets hold of Abby…watch out!" He growled good naturedly at Abby for being called 'Toby.' "When we're at the office, Abby, it's Fornell. But if you're at my house, Toby will be fine." Normally, he hated that nickname, usually made him wince, even coming from Jethro.

But even he was starting to notice the changes in his friend. How, even though he was jerked out of his undercover assignment with no time to come down to the real world, Jethro was still able to handle himself fairly well, except for his fixation on Abby. And for that, for her positive influence on his friend, Tobias was willing to do pretty much whatever the girl wanted.

"Soon as this mess is over, Toby…Soon…" Jet swallowed hard and nodded. "Maybe we can take her to the zoo. She loves the zoo, swears she wants to be an astronaut veterinarian…" Gibbs trailed off, looking at Toby. "Unless that has changed?" He hated asking that like a question, but the fact was that he didn't know their girl any more.

He jiggled his leg up and down, wondering when they were going to get on with it. He still wanted to crawl out of his skin, despite Abby's presence here.

"The only thing that's changed is she's taken the astronaut part off, deciding to focus just of being a vet," Fornell said, proudly. Seeing the look on his friend's face, he added, "Don't worry, Jethro. The kid loves you, even if you've been gone awhile. You should put in a request when this is over, get some time off. Emily would love to see her uncle."

Seeing how keyed up Jet was becoming, Abby tried to soothe him by putting her hand on his bouncing knee, circling patterns on his pants with her thumb.

"Gonna be owed," Gibbs replied quietly. He nodded as Toby suggested some time with Emily. "Maybe I can convince you and the redhead not to send her to camp this summer." Provided the op was over by then. He tried to breathe evenly, focusing on the way Abby's hand was dancing over his leg, but he couldn't stop his restless movements.

Jet Brooks and Jethro Gibbs had collided and he couldn't figure out where he began and his created identity ended.

"Yeah, you thinking you'd like to take her for a few weeks during the summer? As long as she gets that horse riding in that she's been bugging me about, I don't have a problem with it. It'll be cheaper anyhow. Damn support," he grumbled, though in truth, he didn't begrudge his daughter a penny. He'd give more if he could be sure that his ex wouldn't take the money and spend it elsewhere. So, instead, he paid for things, trips, clothes, anything his baby girl needed, making sure his money went to good use.

Abby saw Jet start coming apart at the seams. This whole situation was wearing on him, and she could see it come off of him in waves. If they didn't start this debriefing soon, she was afraid of what may happen.

"Yeah," Gibbs said in a soft voice that he knew was oozing tenderness. "I told her I wanted her to see the Pacific. Any chance you'd let me take her that far, Toby. Or maybe we could make a joint trip of it, you, me…us."

Gibbs breathed in deeply, trying to take it all in and stave off the nervousness running through him. This wasn't him; he was usually so cool under pressure. He hated this feeling and didn't know how to control it. All he could do was pull in deep breaths, trying like heck to settle himself down. But none of his normal methods worked.

"Think you could stand being on a small boat with me for several weeks at a time. You might want to think about bringing that one," Fornell suggested, gesturing to Abby, "along with us if I decide to come. Might help to stop you from pushing me overboard. But I'll talk with Diane. See what I can arrange."

Softly, into Jet's ear, Abby asked, "Are you okay, Jet? What can I do? Can I do anything for you? And that sounds wonderful. You must be a great uncle."

Gibbs gave her a small smile. " Thanks. I have ways of shutting you up, Toby. Always have." Usually involved feeding Emily lines to ask her father so she could drive him crazy instead of Gibbs. "Didn't say we'd sail it. The Kelly won't be ready to go for a while, and you know my plans for the Diane."

"Burn, baby, burn. I'd love to be there for that, but I don't recommend Emily though. She actually still loves her mother," Tobias joked.

Gibbs smiled briefly before turning to Abby. "Cathartic moments. I build boats for fun, sailboats, usually sixteen to twenty two foot. Some of them get broken down to ashes when I'm done."

"You make them yourself? That sounds fascinating," she said, sincerely. "I've never sailed before. How long have you been making boats? What do you do when you're done? Do you ever take them out on the water? Or do they just burn?" Though she knew she should tamp down her curiosity, Abby found his hobby fascinating.

"Hand tools," he clarified. "Cheaper than getting my head shrunk." It had become his version of therapy and when he didn't have it, he missed it. But Jet Brooks was not a hand tools/carpentry kind of guy. He was a professional manicure kind of guy. And that sometimes chafed.

"I have a boat," he said quietly. "I go out on the Chesapeake and Potomac." But he'd never sail the Diane, he was completely uninterested in relying on it to be seaworthy. "When I'm done, I start over."

It wasn't about the final product, it was about the process. Somehow he knew that she would understand that.

"So, you really do like working with your hands, Jet. Hands on in undercover ops. Hands on with building boats. Hands on with all…aspects in your life…" She let the comment drift off, knowing he'd understand the meaning behind her words. "Must be very relaxing…working on your boat that is. Does it take you awhile, using hand tools?"

"Thousands of hours per, yeah." He gave her a smirk and a wink. "You have no idea how hands on." He extended his hands, the nails perfectly clipped, the calluses buffed away. "These aren't my hands. These aren't who I am." He leaned in very close. "But I'm inside, always watching, always….hands on."

Reaching for his hands, she brushed her own across them, feeling the softness. But her imagination provided the difference in her mind, the difference calluses would make across her own skin. "Will you show me someday, when this is all over? Will you show me how…hands on you really are with your boat? Unless that's too personal. I don't want to push myself into your life more than I already have."

"I'd like that," Gibbs surprised himself by saying. It was very soon—too soon—but he'd lived and loved long enough to know when something was special and this woman was. "It'll be a date," he said quietly, intimately.

Knowing the gift he was offering, Abby could only hope that she could find something just as special to return the favor. "Thank you, Jet. I'd really like that too."

Martin leaned over to Tom. "Builds boats in his basement. Names them after his ex- fiancée. She married Fornell after dumping Gibbs. He burns 'em."

"I'm going to assume you mean he burns the boats and not the ex-fiancée?" Morrow asked, amused.

"Just the boats. Think he'd gladly burn the ex fiancée if she wasn't Emily's mother."

Though she could still sense Jet's tension, Abby couldn't help but laugh at the joke about the ex.

Gibbs arched an eyebrow and looked over at Martin. "Thanks for having my six, Martin. Really appreciate it." He lessened his sarcasm with a small smile, which faded as his body started twitching again.

As close as she was sitting, Abby had no problems feeling the sudden change in mood. And in all honesty, she could probably be sitting across the room and still feel him change. Turning to Jet, she asked again, her concern for him overflowing, "Jet, are you sure there's nothing I can do to help you?"

Gibbs shrugged, aware that she could read his discomfort and unsettled by that. "Nothing. Nothing anyone can do. Just have to come down from all of it." And then dive right back in.

Trying not to be hurt by his slight rejection, Abby leaned back, giving him the space he needed. She had no way of knowing how the coming down from something so deep as he had done was affecting him, having never done it herself. She just wanted to help him, as ineffectually as that seemed to be. Giving it one more shot, she gestured to his cup, asking. "Do you want some more coffee? I can get up and grab you some."

He looked at her and nodded. "You sure you want to do that?" His lips twitched a little and then he smiled. "That'd be great." As he watched her walk away, he looked over the rest of gathered federal agents, very aware that they needed all their attention and concentration. Even Franks was behaving, though he glowered a lot of the time.

"Of course I do," she smiled back, glad for the smile from him. Grabbing his cup, she got up and poured him some fresh coffee from the pot. Turning back, she walked up to him, holding it out. "I assume you take it black, right?"

"There any other way to drink coffee?" he asked, watching her. He took the mug and sipped lightly. "Lightweight. I usually do double strength Jamaican blend, but it'll do."

"There are many ways to drink coffee. Like Tony for instance. Lots of sugar, hazelnut cream," she joked, settling back in the chair next to him, unconsciously leaning towards him, closing the distance between their bodies.

Gibbs winced and made a face. "Which one was Tony? Baby Face or the one with you? The only way to drink coffee, Abby, is with coffee in the cup. Nothing else needed. Just hot steaming coffee."

"Tony is the other one, the cockier one who drove me back," she clarified. "You like things simplified, don't you? Boat. Hand tools. Black coffee. Sure you're interested in me? I'm pretty much the exact opposite of that. Not simple at all. Not my clothes or my makeup. Not even my shoes."

"I like a challenge too," Gibbs shot back. But at heart he was a simple uncomplicated guy. Complications were for the workplace and for his personal relationships. Challenges weren't for home and hearth or his wind down hobbies. "You're perfect," he whispered without really meaning to and when he did, he stiffened, wondering if he'd screwed everything up with his intensity.

"So, I'm a perfect challenge, huh? Intriguing enough for you to want to figure out, but not too overly complicated as to be uninteresting and not worth the time?" she offered, teasing. "But in all honesty, I guess I'm not really as complicated as I seem. What you see is probably the most complicated part of me. Otherwise, I'm just Abby."

He cocked his head, shrugging a little. He liked the way she put that. "You intrigue me. You're a puzzle I want to figure out, Just Abby." He tried to keep his voice calmer and more even keeled, less intense. He didn't want to scare her off.

"How do I intrigue you, Jet?" she asked, smiling when he called her 'Just Abby.' "Was it the stun gun? I bet getting that electric shock really made you want to figure me out." She shot him a smirk and a wink.

"You got the upper hand on me. That says something right there, Abby. Very few can. But you sauntered in and took my defenses right down. Didn't think any woman could do that. I thought I was saving you, Abby. And you…knocked me over and took me right out."

"But I didn't mean to take your defenses down, Jet. That was an accident. I didn't do it on purpose. You'd taken my senses down long before you led me into that room," she admitted, shamefully. "You thought you were saving me? Saving me from what?"

"A jewel thief," he admitted. "You fit the profile tonight. Your jewels were the best by far. I figured I'd lure you away, he'd strike, I'd have my collar and you'd be okay. When I was touching your necklace, I was testing the clasp to see how strong it was. Then you hit me."

He motioned to the area she'd zapped him. "Feels like I imagine a vampire bite would. Have I been bitten by a vampire?"

He couldn't quite figure her out. "What do you look like normally? I know the clothes but what about the makeup, jewelry. I don't think I'm getting the complete picture of who you are even now."

"So, I was your bait then, right?" she teased, winking at him. "Well, I'm glad I fit at least someone's profile. Didn't seem to help the op I was supposed to be on."

Leaning down, she gently prodded the area surrounding his injury, "Does it hurt a lot still?" she asked. Still looking at the area, she said, "I've been called a vampire before. Black hair, pale skin, black clothes, collars, high clunky boots. The jewelry…skulls, chains, handcuffs, dog collars with spikes or leash rings. Makeup…just pale skin, red or pink lips, and dark eyes, black mostly, though sometimes I've experimented with colors too."

He hissed a little but tried to not react other than that when she touched him. "It's sore but I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me." He was getting a more complete picture of her now. "Gothic, right?"

They couldn't be more different and yet he was compelled to know more. In his everyday life he might have been mildly fascinated but not more than that. "We have so little in common," he remarked quietly. "And yet I'm so drawn."

"Sorry," she said quickly, pulling away abruptly. "I'm just making it worse. I don't know if I'd categorize myself as Goth. I don't really believe in that kind of stuff, you know like vampires and voodoo and zombies. I'm just curious about it all."

The way he spoke…Abby was worried that he was starting to figure out just how different she really was. Probably wouldn't be interested in her then. "Like I said, I'm just me."

"I know," he assured with a quiet smile. "And you're going to be mine for a good long time. We have plans. A lot of plans."

Mike gave Abby a long look, telling her with eyes not words that she'd better not be making any plans with that dirtbag. He hated the way they were sitting so close as it was.

Martin had been eating quietly, sitting next to Tom at the head of the table a couple of seats away from the agents and Abby. When he heard that casually tossed off phrase, he nudged Tom's leg under the table. "I think she's hooked herself a silver haired fish," he said so low that the rest of the table wouldn't be able to hear.

Answering in a like volume, Morrow asked, "You think so? Is he good enough for my Abby? She's a special girl, Martin. Deserves someone that will treat her beyond good. I would hate to have to threaten an agent of yours," he teased. Morrow could tell that Gibbs was an honorable man, a good agent. But when it came to Abby, all bets were off.

"He's a hell of a man," Martin said quietly. "If Tania was old enough to date him and wanted to, I'd approve. He gets too deep into his head sometimes but is a genuinely good man, though he's a bit abrupt and doesn't suffer fools lightly. He's good for your girl." He knew Tom would understand that Martin wouldn't want his daughter to date just anyone.

"Well, Abby lives quite a bit out of her head. They'll probably be opposite enough to compliment their strengths and overcome any weaknesses. We'll see how this plays out. Hopefully for the best."

"Look at them," Martin pointed out. "Sometimes chemistry wins out, Tom."

When Morrow saw his favorite forensic scientist cuddled up with the FBI agent, he felt a pang in his heart, remembering how it used to be with his own wife. "Sometimes, Marty, chemistry just isn't enough."

Martin nodded, looking at his friend—really looking at him. "Sometimes you can't fix what is broken, Tom. No matter how much you might want to and how hard you've been trying. I know…" He trailed off, hoping he hadn't said too much.

Turning to peer intensely at the other director, Tom asked, "You know, my friend? I believe, before we plan an outing with the wives, you and I need to sit down and have a private heart-to-heart."

Martin nodded. "I know, Tom. They talk and go out enough." Brenda had come to him a week ago, saying that Kath Morrow wasn't even lucid on their luncheon outings any more, that she was mixing pills and alcohol when she previously had only been using a pill here or a few martinis there. His wife followed her home when Kath had refused to surrender the keys. Martin hadn't tried to talk to Tom before now because he hadn't been sure how to broach the subject. "I should have told you something sooner. Not something you should have to go through alone, Tom."

"There's nothing you could have done, Martin. But thank you for your concern. Besides, I probably wouldn't have been willing to hear it, even if you had tried." He'd been denying his wife's problem for so long, not even Martin, his closest friend, would have been able to break through. But slowly, the realization crept in, destroying any hope of denial.

Martin rested a hand on Tom's shoulder, squeezing gently. "You need to do what you need to do. There are some things you can't fix. Brenda has been trying, but Kath doesn't seem interested in help at this juncture. My concern right now is my friend."

And their joint operation, but they would discuss that after everyone had been debriefed and had eaten.

"Thank you, Martin. I appreciate you support, right now more than ever. I just…can't give up on her. Not yet."

"I understand, my friend," Martin replied in an undertone.

Mike couldn't believe Abby was spending time with Gibbs/Brooks rather then himself. He didn't like being the one on the outside here. It wasn't right. This was NCIS, his domain.

"We gonna get on with this or linger over dinner and conversation for hours?"

~*~

"Food time!" Tony and Tim had carried the metal containers and the sodas to autopsy, wishing they had a cart. There were four metal containers, three warm and one cool, the last probably containing dessert.

"Ziva, can you forage for some plates and silverware while we get this set up? Abbs has gone off with the dirtbag…"

"Tony…" she warned lightly, knowing the strain her partner was under. "Not a dirtbag any longer, remember?"

"Dirtbag until proven otherwise," Tony muttered.

Turning to Ducky, she asked, "Do you have anything down here that we could use?"

"Why yes," Ducky moved to one of the storage areas and withdrew some plastic plates and silverware as well as napkins. "I keep a few things around. Never know when they might be needed."

Ducky handed each person a plate and their silverware and began opening up the containers, the aroma oozing out to surround them. "Absolutely wonderful. If we're stuck here, we're eating quite well."

Even Tony looked as if he approved and, given his sense of upset with regard to Abby, that was something.

"Thanks, Ducky. It is good to see that, if stranded, this group would not be without its resources." Ziva moved to the selections and contemplated what to take. There seemed to be more than enough food. "Cynthia overdid herself yet again."

"But I'm not going to complain," Tim laughed as he dished out some lasagna onto his plate.

Ducky gave her an indulgent smile. "I have some canned soups, crackers, trail mix, in case you are ever stuck at your desk and are hungry," he pointed out, filling his plate. "You can always come down here and have whatever you like. My door is always open for you, all of you."

He dished up his own food and then poured everyone a large measure of Scotch.

"Sounds like you would have made a great scout. If you ever want, you should come along with me to work with them. They'd find your stories fascinating." Tim took a small sip of the drink the doctor had poured for him. It was a harder alcohol than he normally consumed, but really smooth. "Thanks, Duck."

"I never was the scouting type, Timothy, but my mother was in London during the blitz, before my time as you all know—or should, Anthony." He kept his voice stern to keep Tony's attitude out of the conversation. "And Mother instilled in me very young the need to have a constant stream of supplies, which did us well on September eleventh, when the Navy Yard was locked down. The soup I had fed most of the agents on alert then, do you remember that, Anthony?"

When Tony nodded, Ducky continued. "I'd love to spend some time with your scouts, Timothy. We could have a grand time."

"Wonderful. I'll call the head scout leader and get it all set up." Tim couldn't wait to have Ducky come along. The man had so much knowledge and experience, the kids would be enthralled.

Ducky beamed. "It is nice to be thought of as someone with wisdom rather than a relic, my dear boy. Thank you."

"Ducky, you're far from a relic!" Tim exclained, shocked that the doctor would think of himself in that light.

"I know that, Timothy. And I hope the rest of you at this table agree, but it is easy to be thought of as old and not very wise in an environment such as this one, with such young, vital agents nearby."

Amid a chorus of agreement, Ziva said, "If people cannot see past age and into the person beneath, then they do not deserve much time in consideration. That would be like underestimating the fight in me because I am a woman, or Abby because of how she dresses, or the intelligence behind Tony's playboy façade, or the warrior inside of Tim. There is no logic in that, no intelligence in looking at only the surface."

"Agreed, my dear. But this is a society that dismisses anyone over forty and idealizes beauty in women that look like twelve-year-old girls."

Accompanied by a chorus of giggles, Ziva added, "And don't forget the men they promote, who also tend to look like twelve-year-old girls."

"And everyone on TV or movies is sculpted, pushed up, or airbrushed away," Tony added, enjoying the camaraderie. He leaned back in his chair, draping an arm across the back of McGee's.

"Or how 'bout those people playing high school?! I'm sorry, but no one in my high school ever looked like they were about ready to graduate from the Masters program," Tim added to mêlée.

"Or looked so pretty. Whatever happened to teenaged awkwardness," Tony added. "Pimples, too long arms and legs. Don't know about you guys, but I wasn't this perfect when I was sixteen."

Sighing, Tim said, "Yeah, but you never had to deal with American high schoolers. They're awful, just plain mean and awful."

Ziva snorted at Tony's comment, glad to see Tony was starting to come out of his sorrow for temporarily losing Abby. "I had more to worry about than teenage awkwardness."

Tony sighed, shrugging. "Prep school was a picnic compared to home life for me. At least I knew the hazing would end at school."

Ducky slipped his hand into Ziva's. "I cannot imagine, my dear."

Squeezing Ducky's hand in appreciation, Ziva asked Tony, "Hazing? What is that? And why would you have it at home?"

Tony wondered how to explain hazing. "The biggest and strongest boys win. At prep school, they terrorized and bashed you around until you learned your lesson. Then, if you wanted to be just like them, you did the same to kids younger and weaker than you. It was…" Worse at home, he added. Because he was always the smaller, weaker one. He was always the one terrorized.

Ducky watched Tony carefully, studying the rapid breathing and the suddenly panicked eyes. There was a story there but he didn't know if he was the one to reach out or if someone less threatening should.

He gave Ziva and Timothy an imploring look.

"Sounds antiquated, Tony. I am surprised you put up with it. But I assume in those circumstances, it was the only way you had to assimilate yourself into the culture. Explains your dealings with McGee." Ziva didn't miss the pain on her partner's face. But she didn't know how to reach him on this level. Family was always a topic she found most…difficult to discuss.

"You okay, Tony," Tim asked, worried about his friend. Tony never opened up about his home life. But Tim always wondered, if maybe he pushed a little harder, if Tony wouldn't want to talk about it with him.

"I was ten, Ziva. What was I supposed to do when kids who had eighty pounds and a foot in height on me started bashing me around?" Tony didn't mean to let those words burst out and he turned his head away.

"Yeah, Probie, I'm fine. Not all of us had your Cleaver childhood."

But he wasn't fine. Ducky took in Tony's expression and rapid blinking. "Ziva, would you help me gather the plates and perhaps get a soda from one of the vending machines?"

Tony seemed a little more at ease with Timothy at least and perhaps they could get him talking.

Getting up to follow Ducky, she stopped in front of Tony. "I…I am sorry, Tony. I did not mean…" But she didn't know what else to say, so she followed Ducky out, grabbing the plates as she went.

"Yeah, I know. Ziva," Tony said with a sigh. All of a sudden he and McGee were alone.

"Tony?" Tim asked hesitantly. "I don't think you're fine. Do you…want to talk?" he offered, knowing Tony never really liked to open hope. They'd been through a lot, he and Tony. From when he first started working with Franks' team, to Kate's death, to tonight.

"Talk? About what? My childhood? You heard the stories, Pr—Tim. You can connect the dots." Tony just watched the other man, knowing his eyes were vulnerable and sad all of a sudden.

"Yeah, I know the stories, what little bits you've said. And if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to." He reached out and squeezed the other man's shoulder. "Tony, you don't always have to be the joking frat boy. There's more than that to you. You don't have to be afraid to show it."

Tony couldn't stop leaning in to the touch. "It balances the team," he said quietly. "They don't want to hear about my crap childhood." But having someone—even Probie—wanting to listen…it felt nice.

Tony met Tim's eyes for a long moment. "What I said is just the tip of the iceberg. If you really want to know, you, me, and a six pack some day. But it isn't pretty, McGee."

"It doesn't have to be pretty, Tony. Life generally isn't. But you were there for me when we lost Kate, knowing how hard it was for me having lost a friend. And yeah, you give me a hard time, but I know it's 'cause you want me to be a good investigator." Unconsciously, he started to rub Tony's shoulder, saying, "Set the date, Tony, and I'll be there."

Tony let his eyes close, nodding, "This weekend. Bring your super scout pajamas and I'll change the sheets in the spare room. We can order some Chinese, drink, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know. But you have you promise you won't look at me different, McGee. I don't want that…"

He blinked rapidly, unable to believe he was doing this. With McGee! "I swear to God, Tim. If this shows up in a book, I will kill you."

"I swear, Tony. On my brand new vintage typewriter, I swear I won't put anything you say into a book. And I'd never look at you differently, Tony. I didn't even when they thought you'd murdered that girl. Nothing you could do would lessen my admiration. You're a hell of an agent and an even better man."

They bickered back and forth like brothers and Tony could never have expected this stark honesty from McGee. "Take it from me, Tim, Nothing special here."

"There's plenty special about you, Tony. You're an amazing investigator, intuitive, smart, funny. And when you led the team for those two months, you stepped into Franks' shoes better than anyone could. You should lead your own team soon, Tony. You've been ready for that for awhile."

"If I didn't know better…" Tony started with that old DiNozzo smirk. "I only led the team because Mike was recovering from three gunshot wounds, Probie. It wasn't ideal and I was consulting with Mike every week. It wasn't as if he was going to let things happen without his input."

Tony knew he'd done a great job but he didn't want to move on yet. He had made a nice niche here and wasn't interested in making any changes.

"But still, you lead the team, even with Mike's help, that was you. Tony, you should be proud of how well you did. It was not an easy job stepping up behind him, filling his shoes. You did remarkably well."

"Thanks, Probie." It hadn't seemed good at the time. Tony'd been dealing with the fallout of Mike's injury and the reality that Mike might not be back. And the team was incredibly stressful for everyone. They had taken a lot of it out on him and it hadn't been a comfortable position for any of them.

Between working long days and motivating Mike, it had been a tough road for them all.

Ducky took the plates and began rinsing them in his private sink rather than the one he used for autopsy. "That boy hasn't had an ideal life," Ducky remarked quietly. But who of them had? Ziva's scars were deep even now and Timothy hadn't had it easy as school.

"No one has, Ducky. No one has. But Tony says little that allows people in. Do you think that Tim has a better chance then even you, Ducky?" she asked, knowing that was the reason he had asked her back there.

"No. But I saw something in Tony's eyes, a vulnerability that may mean he's considering opening up. More Timothy than us. Those two have a brotherly bond, Ziva. It has been steadily growing. They're very similar in some ways." And very different in ways that complement each other.

"Well, then I hope Tim can reach out to him, before we have another crisis on our hands. Having one emotionally draining day for a friend is enough for one day. Let us push our crises to at least one a day, if not every other day," she teased.

"Tony never lets what he has going on out, Ziva. He just retreats deeper into himself. Perhaps if he can speak to Timothy, he'll be able to work some of these things out for himself."

"Before the past destroys him from the inside, Ducky. I have seen that happen in men that were sometimes stronger and more often weaker in strength than Tony."

"I've seen it come close to happening in you," Ducky remarked quietly. "You need to confide in a safe person as well, Ziva."

"If I need to, if I come to the point where I find that need, I will Ducky. I promise," she tried to assure him.

"See that you do," Ducky said sternly.

"Yes, Doctor," she said, smiling.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Unable to wait any longer, Abby turned to the two directors. "Excuse me, sirs. But I think we really need to get started on this debriefing. We're all on edge here. If we can get this op going, maybe we'll all be able to take a breath. I, for one, am nervous as heck. Can you explain to me how this is going to go down and what will be required of me? Like, who am I going to be if I can't be Abby?" Abby asked not only for herself, but for the man next to her who had quickly become such an important person in her life. She needed to make sure that he was going to be all right. And right now, he was coming apart, the edges of his psyche fraying.

Martin looked over at Tom. "Debriefing before we coordinate the rest? Tobias? Jet? You boys doing okay?"

Gibbs shrugged one shoulder in a jerky motion. He didn't trust himself to speak much right now. "Fine," he finally said, turning his hand over and reaching for Abby's. He needed her support and stability at the moment.

Pulling up his hand, she kissed his knuckles, trying to let him know she was there for him. "We can do whatever you guys want; debrief, coordinate. Doesn't really matter at this point. But it's been a day from hell, even if there were some good parts," she said, rubbing Jet's hand with her thumb. "And I think it'll be best if we finish what we started. I mean, I'm leaving my life behind for who knows how long. And Jet's been slammed between two worlds."

Martin studied Jet's expression and realized just how far gone he was. "Jethro," he said quietly in concern. "Tom, is there anywhere he can be alone for fifteen minutes, maybe a half hour. We need to get everyone's statements organized and I trust Abby to give us her version of the events. If we start with Jet, he can decompress alone somewhere quiet, maybe your MTAC area."

Seeing what his friend was concerned about, Morrow stated, "Sure, he can go anywhere he needs to within the agency. I'll open it up to him. MTAC has agents in it currently, but plenty of dark seating where he can be alone. There's also my office. Or…"

"My lab," Abby offered, interrupting. "Sorry, Director. I meant to say, there's also my lab. It's got a futon, candles if he needs them, music…and not just the stuff I work with. Relaxing music too. But MTAC or your office is good too…" she said, stuttering to a stop.

"Her lab," Jet agreed. He just wanted to decompress without an audience. "What do you need to know? Do you want to do this with the other agents in here to refute anything I might have forgotten?" Or misrepresented, he added silently.

Martin angled a glance over to Tom. He might be the director of the larger agency, but this was Tom's office and Tom's operation to lead right now. In truth, Martin should have stayed away and would have if he hadn't been close friends with Jethro for many years. And Tom.

"No, the agents can go wait in the hall. We'll start with you, and then Franks. Abby will follow, then we'll call the boys from downstairs. Martin, do you want Fornell in here, since he, I assume, was running your op?"

Getting up, Abby said, "I'll be in my lab, getting it ready for Gibbs. When I'm done, I'll come back for my debriefing. Is that all right, Director?" She put a hand on Gibbs' shoulder, squeezing as she smiled down at him.

"Fine, Abby. Just don't take too long."

Mike grumbled but stood as well. "Be at my desk. Call me, sir." He emphasized the sir before he walked out.

Walking alongside Franks, Abby asked hesitantly, "You okay? Are we okay?" knowing he hated the idea of her and Gibbs being 'friendly.'

"We're fine, Abby," Mike said but the tone of his voice made it clear that he was still a bit upset with her.

"No, we're not. You're still cranky. What is it Mike? Spill it 'cause I'm not going to deal with your grumpy, silent treatment," Abby demanded, as she stopped in front of him, hands on her hips. Even though she had a lot to do to prepare the lab for Jet, Mike was still a very vital part of her world, and she had to make sure they really were okay.

"Then don't deal with me," Mike shot back, knowing he was hurting her feelings, but unable to stop himself. "Go get the lab ready for loverboy, Girlie." It was very immature and unprofessional of him, but he couldn't stop it. He'd been so worried about Abby and the more it seemed unfounded, the more annoyed he got.

Abby gasped in pain at his words, her eyes tearing up. Not trusting herself to say anything, she turned away, practically running to the elevator.

Mike blinked a few times, aware of how much he'd hurt her and started after her before he shook his head and walked to his desk, feeling a lot of years older than he was.

~*~

Gibbs watched Abby leave, feeling a little alone, as silly and stupid as that was.

"Want me to start then?" When Martin nodded, Gibbs began speaking. "Got there at the appointed time, was doing this one completely alone. I looked around, found Abby. She seemed to stand out." He gave both men a thin slightly ironic smile.

"I made contact, sure her necklace was going to draw the attention of the wrong person. We sipped champagne and I led her off into an alcove. We…" he trailed off, a little uncomfortable despite his years on the job.

"We connected. Then she hit me with a stun gun." Gibbs displayed the marks. "And I went down. When I woke up, she was gone and the two young guys were there. We all postured a lot and they brought me to their van.

He waited for any cue to continue. When Martin nodded, he spoke again. "Ziva and the young guy…Tim? Covered me in the van. I was Mirandized and no charges were given, then I was brought here after Abby stopped by the back of the van to have a little chat." He gave the men another small smile.

"I was brought here, Special Agent Franks introduced himself. Still no charges read. I was brought to interrogation where Abby came and fingerprinted me and then Franks came in with fists blazing. He had the case right but got my involvement in it wrong…"

He trailed off, waiting for anyone to speak.

"And you didn't, at any point, during the posturing or when Franks attacked you, think to announce yourself or ask for Fornell?" Though he knew, from Martin, that Gibbs was under orders not to reveal himself, Morrow needed to know if that was his actual motive behind Gibbs' actions.

Fornell moved to interrupt, to tell Morrow exactly how his ops were run, but was halted with a look from the director. Maybe Morrow knew; it would be standard interrogation to question all aspects of a person's motivation and actions.

Martin watched his man, staying absolutely quiet but gesturing for Tobias to settle down.

"I'm in deep, sir. Under orders to take whatever was dished out without revealing myself. Only if there was a potentially lethal amount of force was I given orders to break cover. That wasn't the case here. A stun gun, bruises, maybe a mild concussion. Your men are out of control, but I'm not lying in a morgue, am I?" Gibbs couldn't help but be a little sarcastic.

Turning serious, he let his voice drop. "_Nothing _causes me to break cover, sir." Even the lethal force might not if it had a chance of him getting answers. It was why he was damn good at what he did.

"That's good to know, Special Agent Gibbs. Now I need you to tell me something, something that matters even more to me than this op. What are your intentions with Abby? And what will you do to protect her if I allow her to go on this undercover op with you? She's like my daughter, Gibbs. Abby has sacrificed enough already for this mission. I need to know, I need to make sure that you're going to be man enough to protect my girl."

He leaned forward, composing his answer carefully. "I don't know. Wherever this bond between us leads." He spoke with complete honesty, unwilling to give the man any falsehoods. "Want to explore this."

The other part of the director's question was easy to answer. "I'll protect and guard her with my life. That is not only a promise but a vow."

Director Morrow met Agent Gibbs's stare with his own, searching the man's eyes for something, anything that would indicate he would bend under the pressure the op would put on him. "And you vouch for him, Martin? You'd stake your life, your family's life on him?"

"Yes," Martin said simply. "I'd trust him with my life and my family's lives, Tom. He's one of the best agents I've ever known."

Seeing what he needed in the agent's eyes, Morrow nodded leaning back. "Then I'll trust you with Abby's. I have nothing more for you Agent Gibbs. Martin? Fornell? Do you have anything you wish to discuss with him?

Martin shook his head. "Take some time, Jethro. Get your mind back into Jet Brooks. And his estranged wife. It'll take us a few hours to nail out the details but I don't see why we couldn't send you and Abby to the suite after all the debriefing. Your guards cum personal assistants can bring her paperwork over and we'll get a complete wardrobe organized as soon as the stores open in the morning."

Wheels started turning in Martin's mind and he nodded and smiled. "We may be able to work this out as his estranged wife who came to the party. We'll have to check with Abby to ascertain what happened and see if we can work that out."

Martin looked over at Tobias, wondering if he had anything to add.

Taking his cue from the director, Fornell approached his friend and agent. "And you're sure, Gibbs, you're ready to go back in? Do you think your cover is still secure? I know the agents took you out furtively, no one being aware of your capture. If you are sure about your security, than I have no problem in putting you back in."

"I'm ready, sir. We need to get answers on both ops. Abby can brief me on the other op, right?"

Nodding in agreement, Morrow said, "Then I will endorse the mission, Special Agent Gibbs, and put whatever support you and the FBI deem necessary behind you and Abby. Your support guard, your assistants, will more than likely end up being our agents, probably Special Agents DiNozzo and McGee. If you approve of those choices, and after we debrief them as well, this group will see about adding them to the equation. Otherwise, you are free to go, Gibbs," he finished, standing up.

Holding out his hand, he added, "Go regroup, center yourself in Abby's lab. No doubt, she's had it set up for you by now." As soon as he left, Morrow had plans to call down to Franks for the next step in the debriefing.

Gibbs stood, looking at Toby for a long moment, knowing they wouldn't be in good contact for a while. He paused a moment and then gave Toby a tight hug. "Take care of our girls, Tobias. Tell Emily we're going to have a great time when we see each other again."

Letting his friend go, Gibbs stepped back and took a breath. He started to reach for Martin's hand but then gave him a briefer hug than Toby's but no less heartfelt. "Thanks for your faith in me, Martin."

"Take care of yourself, my friend." Martin said quietly, knowing that the quiet time was at an end.

"I will," Gibbs promised, extending his hand to shake the other director's hand. "Abby will be in safe hands, sir. And I will work alongside your other agents without any problems. I understand that I answer to you."

"Yes, you will be, Gibbs. I look forward to following your progress. And I will hold you to your protection of Abby. In order to continue the smoothness of transition, if something was to happen where I or Martin would need you to break cover again, the phrase you chose to use will stand. And, I apologize for speaking as if you're not in the room Tobias, that phrase will remain between you and Martin and myself."

"Understood, sir. I don't anticipate having to use it." Gibbs nodded at each of the men, turning and walking away.

"Good agent you have there, Marty," he commented briefly before picking up the phone near him. Dialing an extension, he barked easily into the phone, "Franks, you're up."

"Good marine, good man, Tom. All around good guy."

~*~

Mike was not in the mood for this. He stalked into the conference room, sat down, and looked at Morrow first then the feebs and back to Morrow. "What can I do for ya, Director?"

"You can start by losing a bit of that attitude. Then you could go into an account of the op you were leading, what went down when that op was set into motion, and ending with your attack and what happened to provoke it, in your mind."

Even though he'd worked with Special Agent Franks before, Fornell was ticked at the man's treatment of his agent. Arms crossed over his chest, he waited for the man's explanation at his almost deviant behavior.

"I can do that, Tom, if ya call off your bulldog there, Special Agent Fornell." Mike dragged the words out, knowing he was annoying the other man.

"Not a bulldog," Fornell growled out, but he backed off for the sake of the debriefing.

"You know we've been trying to break this drug ring." Franks threw a sheaf of papers on the table. "Background, tox reports, transcriptions of interviews. Have 'em copied for each of you when Cynthia gets back from her rendezvous."

Mike paused, flipping to the page pages of the file. "This event fit the pattern. Seven high ranking officers and at least one dependent each were gonna be there. Abby was sent it as a Marine wife, newly widowed. Last two we sent Ziva in on, nobody even approached her. Boys said she glowered at everyone."

He paused again. "Abby was our only choice," he said, his voice deadly serious and firm now. "She went in, wasn't there more than twenty minutes, McGee and Tony say they lost sight of her and Brooks found her. When they approached, Brooks was unconscious on the ground. Abby came out to me all shook up, lipstick smeared, way too concerned about his well-being. Brought him back here, I knew I'd seen him before, crossed wires on the Pendleton murders and I went in swinging."

Mike wouldn't apologize for that. "Thought he was the dirtbag, not the victim's husband."

"Even if he had been the man from your previous investigation, why would you go in and punch a handcuffed man, Franks? Yeah, you're style of interrogation can push the lines of Constitutional rights. But you'd at least had notable provocation. According to both Abby and Ziva, he had done nothing up until that point that warranted your behavior."

Morrow knew that in the end it was probably protection over Abby that had caused Franks' break. But for the success of the op and the sake of Abby's safety, Morrow needed all Franks' cards on the table before giving the go-ahead.

"Thought he assaulted Abby," Mike said, growling the words out through gritted teeth. "Abby was shook up, Tom. Like I never saw her before. She wouldn't come clean with me, just shook and got really quiet. But it was him responsible, even if she didn't say it, we all knew it. Don't talk to the girls. Talk to Tony and McGee. They were worried about what he'd done too."

Mike wasn't gonna get dressed down in front of the feebs.

"I will speak with who I deem necessary and when I deem it necessary, Special Agent Franks," Morrow began, not liking that he had to put his most senior field agent in his place in front of the Director of the FBI. He preferred to keep that kind of debriefing under wraps. And despite the fact that he had plans to speak with all of his agents on the case, he did not like to be spoken to the way Mike seemed so readily wanting to.

"Did I miss your promotion above me, Franks? We are not new to investigations, and I am quite sure we can understand heat of the moment reactions, especially from agents new to undercover assignments. What our job is at this point is to determine if you really did believe you had just cause to hit a man who was not able to defend himself, or if you overreacted."

Mike slapped his hand on the table, angry now. "You heard my explanation, Director! I'm not going to beg for understanding. That isn't my style." He met Tom's eyes for the span of ten seconds before he looked away, folding his arms over his chest and focusing on a spot somewhere about Fornell's ear.

Didn't take long before they were kissing the FBI's ass and he was the odd man out. The irony wasn't lost on Mike Franks. "Abby, McGee, DiNozzo, Ziva. My agents, Director. NCIS' op. I don't want Fornell calling the shots on Abby."

"My agents," Morrow corrected, "A joint op with the FBI and NCIS. The plans did not include the FBI running the mission. But if you cannot get your head clear, cannot see to getting your head into a state where you can work with the FBI without your ego getting in the way, I will have no hesitation in setting up Fornell to lead. He had originally been intended to be your second in this situation, reporting only to me and Director Fletcher. And it's an FBI agent who is deep enough undercover to enable a smooth transition. Not only Abby's life that's on the line, Mike. If I can't trust you to stick your neck out for Gibbs, I'll have to put someone in charge who will."

"Whatever pleases you, sir." Mike bit out. He was getting too damn old for these pissing contests. And he was damned sure that Fornell wouldn't get dressed down like he was in front of both directors. "You always know best, sir," Mike added in a mutter.

He didn't like Gibbs, he didn't trust Gibbs, and he sure as hell didn't want Abby with Gibbs in any capacity. But Morrow wasn't listening to reason.

"I have vacation, over six months. If you want me off this op, put DiNozzo in charge. He was capable when I was out."

Shot. On the last joint op, that one with ATF and DEA. That one had been yanked out of their hands as well. "Still got lead in me from the last time you let someone else have too much control," Mike said in an undertone.

"Mike, when we're finished here, you will go back to your desk and refocus yourself. You're head's not in the game, and if you continue to behave like this, you're going to put the whole operation at risk. You're going to put Abby's life at risk. And regardless of what you feel about this op, about Gibbs or about how we run it, you need to keep that in mind. You're the best I have, Mike. I don't want anyone else looking out for her, but you. Fletcher has vouched for Gibbs. Don't make me doubt vouching for you."

"As you wish, sir," Mike repeated. He wouldn't play good company boy and act like he liked this. But he wouldn't hurt Abby either. And he knew working with Fornell was going to be tough, if not impossible.

"Don't be a smart ass, Mike, anymore than you already are," Morrow teased. "Now that you given us your account of today's op, I need you to give your suggestions on the running of this op. We want to make sure that this runs as smoothly and as competently as we can, as we know our agencies are more than capable of."

Mike wasn't sure what they expected of him. "We have to give equal time to answers, more time to our op since people are dying."

"And the money from the jewels could be used to fund terrorists," Martin pointed out.

"People are dying," Mike insisted, appealing to Morrow. This would be important in determining the pecking order. "Innocent people are taking drugs and dying. Murder."

"And the terrorists are murdering people. So, how does that mean that your drugs take more precedence," Fornell protested.

"Gentlemen," Morrow said, holding up his hand. "This isn't going to be about who gets more play time. I won't have a pissing contest over priorities. Because this is my house and I'll always win. Now, we're going to approach this equally. It is the FBI agent whose deep undercover identity is allowing an op of this magnitude. However, it is my agents, my forensic scientist, who will putting their necks on the line. We operate as equals. I will not be having anything less." Sighing, he nodded to his friend, the other director. "Anything less will mean someone's death."

Martin nodded to Tom. "You're right," he said quietly. "But we have to face the possibility that the ops may take Gibbs and Abby in different directions so I understand your agent's concerns. We'll have to rely on the entire group in order to form a cohesive unit." And that included Interpol and Sebastian as well.

"Precisely, and that is why installing both McGee and DiNozzo as personal assistant and bodyguard, respectively, will aid in this. That way, if something does cause the separation, each will have at least one backup."

Martin nodded. "These two are good talented men who have been undercover and can think on their feet? " He'd only heard the names for Tobias' reports, didn't know or have much more information. "Should I worry that they might be combative toward my man?"

"My men are completely professional," Mike shot back with a glare to the other man. "They'll get the job done and they'll do it right."

"Nevertheless…" Martin turned to Tom for advisement. "Do you need us to work out backgrounds? I know your Abby usually does them for you folks, but she's going to be busy…"

"Since I worked up Jet's background, it might be easier for me to create histories for the rest of the team, especially Abby's who will need to be linked with Jet's." Having been in Abby's lab before, Fornell had a good idea on how to integrate a past for her. As for Tony and Tim, he had some plans that should make it at least more entertaining on his part.

"That works for me, Fornell. Your background for Jet was impeccable. And, yes, you will need to incorporate Abby's with Jet to guarantee its success." Morrow had faith in Fornell's ability to create these histories.

"Why don't you go down there and start working with them. Tobias?" Martin suggested. It's been a very long day for everyone and I'm sure Tom would appreciate it if we could streamline the process in any way we could. Mike, perhaps you could run off copies of your operation for us and I'll have either Agent Fornell or Sacks bring packets for you and your men tomorrow."

Martin turned to Tom. "We'll want to put Cynthia and Mellody on logistics. Abby, at least, will need a new casual wardrobe. We want her and Jet to be seen out to dinners and such to establish them as a couple again. It won't be a case of our girls determining the best dresses for events, but an everyday wardrobe as well. I'm afraid the skirt isn't quite fitting in with the identity we've established for Jet Brooks."

"Do you want me to wait until the debriefing's over boss? Or would you like me to head downstairs now? All I need's a computer, and then when Abby, Tony and Tim are done in here for them to see me so I can finalize the details," Fornell offered.

"I'll wait to call Cynthia until the debriefing is over and Fornell's established the new identities. It won't help for them to be picking out clothes when they have no idea the characters they will be buying for. And I believe they'll have to find clothes for Tim and Tony as well. There may not be enough time for the guys to go home."

Martin looked over at Tom Morrow, knowing that it would take time to establish the identities. "Call Sacks and Blumenthal and then get down there. Tom, can you or Mike get him set up at a desk now?"

"Mike, set him up on Tony's computer. It'll give him access to McGee's or McGee's help if it comes to that. Don't be afraid to use him or any other resources here, Fornell. Make sure their identities stick and can pass whatever are thrown at them. Franks, can you help him out? Help him run whatever backgrounds he needs. Then when you two are done, we'll set McGee and Tony on them, see if either of them can crack the histories."

"Thanks, Director Morrow. And I'd appreciate any help Franks can give me. Setting up three new identities in one night. Make sure we got access to a lotta coffee," Fornell teased.

"Double strength," Mike growled but nodded at the director. "You ready, Feeb?" He didn't mind Fornell normally but now it was the principle of the thing and he had to keep up appearances.

"Tobias," Martin called before the men left. "If you get a second, order something for Emily, my treat. Have it billed to me at the office. I know you wanted to see her this weekend." It was the least he could do to help a damned good agent.

"Yeah, let's get this started. It's gonna take awhile. And thanks Director Fletcher. I appreciate it. And when you're done with the three – Abby, DiNozzo, McGee – can you send them to us? I'll need to input some more…personal details into their histories."

Gesturing to the door, he shot back to Franks, "After you, retread."

"Retread?" Mike grunted. "At least my agency didn't have a cross dresser running it. The Hoover building should be called Rainbow Bright."

"You jealous, Franks?" Fornell said in amusement.

"Nah," Mike shot back as they walked out of the room. "My director could kick your director's ass, Tobiassss."

Martin shook his head, rolling his eyes. "This operation may be the death of all of us, Tom." Now that they were alone—truly alone—he leaned in close. "You have faith in Gibbs and Abby working as a cohesive unit. I know my man and he comes as close to becoming his undercover personality as anyone I've ever met."

What Martin didn't say was that there was darkness that surrounded getting that deep in an operation, that it had left its own scars for Gibbs to grapple with. He couldn't ignore the chemistry but he worried about Abby in a long term relationship with Jet.

He paused for a moment. "How do you plan to address Special Agent Franks' assault on Gibbs, Tom? I'm concerned that Franks may have lost objectivity for our agent and that we need to address this strongly and decisively to avoid any further disruptions."

"When we are finished with this debriefing, I'm going to ask you to join your agent in the squad room. I'll pull Franks in here to redress his actions. If he cannot reach objectivity with Gibbs and with Abby, I will remove him from this op, give control to either DiNozzo or Fornell. I will not put Abby's life on the line because Franks can't get through his bruised pride."

Martin nodded, very satisfied with that option. "And I don't plan to lose Gibbs. He's the best, Tom." Martin paused a moment. "I'll encourage Gibbs not to press charges, in the odd case that he is considering it. Even within agencies, he could make a case for striking a federal agent, but I think he's been around long enough to react cautiously. I have to tell you, though, I don't like it. If Franks had engaged him verbally, I wouldn't have this issue but…"

They'd been friends enough for Martin to know when to back off, as he'd done with the Cynthia situation.

"I appreciate it, Marty. Franks is a good agent. He just tends to let his gut run his reactions. And when its wrong, his pride seems to trip him up." Frowning, he stood up. "I don't like it either, him using his fists to make his point. I wish I could blame it all on his over reaction to Abby's responses, but even then Franks should have been able to control himself."

Walking over to the intercom, phone system, he asked, "Time to call Abby now? She's probably in her lab."

Martin nodded, taking a long swallow of wine. The day wasn't nearly over yet. "You get that assistant of yours to order you a massage," he said quietly. They both know she'd be back before Tom left for the night.

"Sometimes you need someone to take care of you, Tommy."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

After pretty much running from Franks' cruelty, Abby finally made it to her sanctuary, her lab. Sighing, she hit the power for her stereo, finding a CD that fit her mood. When Airbourne Toxic Event came on, she smiled. "Perfect." Now this wouldn't be what she leave for Jet to listen to, he'd probably come undone even more. But for now, for her, it was perfect.

Moving around, she gathered everything she needed: futon, blankets, pillow, candles, sage and Bert. Going into her ballistics lab, she laid everything out, lighting the slow burning candles and sage. Fluffing up the futon and pillow, she made a bed on the ground, with Bert ready for snuggling. Jet would probably laugh at that, but Bert always helped her.

Standing back, she surveyed her work. Proud with what she'd done, what she'd readied for Jet's time for relaxation. "Now for music," she decided. Going to her rack of CDs, she started dancing to the music as she looked for something more soothing for him to listen to.

When they let him go, Jet made his way to the lab area, standing outside and listening to the pounding music. He just watched her move, aware that she was so different from him and yet he couldn't be more intrigued and more attracted. Maybe there was something to the whole "opposites attract" idea.

Somehow, Gibbs knew Shannon would have liked Abby, with her spirit and soul and her heart on her sleeve. He barely entered the room, just leaned against the wall, watching, knowing she was completely in her element here. The room suited her, even though she was fire and spirit and passion, this clinical side of her mind would be a sight to behold.

He wanted to see her monitoring the equipment, her eyes alight with discovery.

Picking up a CD of Chopin Nocturnes– not her usual music preferences, but a gift from Cynthia – she spun around in her dances moves. And then froze.

A blush stole over her features as her pigtails settled around her shoulders. "Hi," she squeaked, embarrassed, seeing Jet watching her from the doorway. "How…um…how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to be charmed," he said, not peeling himself away from the wall quite yet. "You're incredible, do you know that? How can you be so childlike one moment and such a woman the next? You fascinate me."

"Incredible? .I…" she stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. She knew people saw her as being intelligent, unique, but incredible? Never. "I don't know, Jet. I'm just me. What could you possibly find fascinating? Most people just think I'm weird or a freak mostly. But fascinating, not so much."

Covering up her embarrassment, she went over to her music player. Popping the CD in, since she never listened to it and didn't have it on her iPod, she turned the music up in her ballistics lab. Moving back over to him, she grabbed both of his hands.

Walking backwards, she pulled him after her. "Okay, so I've set up my ballistics lab for you. A bed, candles, sage, music, a pillow and Bert. All ready for you to come back to wherever you need to. And when I leave to go give my debriefing, I'm going to lock up the lab so no one can disturb you. I'll be the only one able to get inside."

"Who is Bert? Abby, I really just want to be alone…" he began, walking into what looked like a New Age nightmare. He looked around, swallowing hard and shaking his head slowly. It must have been a forensics lab at some juncture but it wasn't any more. Now it looked like a harem from another planet.

It just underscored how different they were.

Letting go of his hands, she turned to scoop up Bert, her skirt flying around her. "Bert is my best friend," she explained, giving him a hug, which resounded in a very loud fart. "He's great for stress relieving."

Seeing his expression, she turned around and saw her lab through his eyes. Walking towards the candles, she played her hand along the edge of the table. "I know it's a lot, but I just thought it might help you calm yourself or whatever it is you need." Keeping her back to him, unable to face his rejection of what she was, she shrugged her shoulder saying, "I can get rid of it if you want. I normally don't have it out. Just keep it around in case of emergencies like this. Though there's never really been a 'like this' before…"

She was rambling – again – but his expression had her worried that she was only showing him how eccentric she really was. Abby had never been embarrassed about herself before. But suddenly, when alone with him, really alone for the first time, she almost was.

"He um…" Gibbs chuckled, shaking his head. "Did you make that yourself or was it custom made? I can't imagine there's a place for a farting hippo on the shelves." He was already starting to regain the more cultured wording of Jet Brooks but he didn't want to lose himself either. Not when she didn't even know him yet.

"It's okay," he said quietly, reassuring her. He was touched she'd gone to so much trouble for him.

"Made him myself. I had just come to NCIS and really didn't know anybody. And I went to the zoo here, trying to sort things out in my head. I found myself in front of the hippo tank, wondering why, even though they're supposed to come up for air, I never seem to see them breathe. Well, right then, Bert, that was the hippo's name, he just let some bubbles go, and not from his mouth," she explained, turning around. Leaning her head on her Bert, she squeezed again. "And he made me laugh. I knew that no matter how hard or lonely things got, that I'd always have my farting hippo to make me smile."

No one had ever asked her about Bert before. Everyone saw him as an oddity. One of many in the life of Abby Sciuto. Looking up at him, she tried to gauge his face as he seemed to become Brooks again. "Are you sure? I can put out the candles and the sage…" she offered.

"It's okay," he insisted. "Came to DC from where?" He wanted to be Jet before he had to be Brooks again. "You're not native? I've been here since…" he trailed off. "Lot of years. Grew up in Pennsylvania." Unlike Brooks who had grown up in London, Paris, summered in the French Riviera and skied Aspen and the Alps interchangeably.

He knew he was talking rapidly, trying to keep Brooks from encroaching in their time together. Why he was jealous of a person who didn't even exist was beyond him.

"New Orleans. I'm a ragin' Cajun as a song says. Complete with gumbo, jazz and a coon dog. Well, I had a coon dog. He died before I came out here." Putting Bert gently back on the bed she had made him, she walked closer, asking, "Are you Pennsylvania Dutch?"

She almost asked about family, but remembered his reaction from earlier. "Did you like that area growing up?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Irish from way back on Dad's side, no idea on Mom's." She'd passed away when he was very young. "Hated the area. Didn't want to be a miner. The military was my ticket out since college wasn't an option."

He left out that he'd met Shannon up there. "Signed up when I was seventeen and I never went back."

Leaning against the side counter near him, she asked, "Was your father a miner then? Why wasn't college an option?"

Her fingers itched to touch him, just to brush his hair back a little. But she stopped herself, knowing that this time for talking was just as rare as their time for other… recreational activities. To distract herself, she just kept asking questions. "You haven't been back home?"

"Yeah. Dad was a miner first then he opened up a store. Too many close calls." And Gibbs' mother had been sick at the time. He didn't know why he was opening up to this stranger. Maybe it was his vulnerability. Maybe it was the situation. Maybe it was all of it.

He shrugged, remembering the discussions about how they couldn't afford college, how he should just go into the mines and save up slowly. "Just wasn't affordable." Not even Penn State, where he could have easily been accepted.

Then he'd met Shannon, who came from a hell of a lot more than he had. "Military schooled me." In more ways than one. He'd taken his share of classes, but they'd also taught him how to be a man. "Haven't been home since the day I left. He's …my father's been to DC a few times." But not since the funeral.

Hopping onto the counter, she smoothed her skirt over her thighs. "You seem to fit my idea of a military man fairly well, except for the hair of course, despite how easily you blend into the richer crowd. Why'd you choose the Marines?"

"Hair was shorter but they made me grow out a bit." It was too long for him even though he knew by anyone else's estimation it was short." He didn't know how to explain the Marine mentality. "The Marines are a state of mind. You don't choose the Marines, you just fit. I wasn't interested in Air Force or Navy, thought about Army, but the Marines and I were a good fit. Perfect fit. Sometimes you just know. Like you and me."

She nodded in understanding, guessing it was rather like her and forensics, how a girl who looked like her was at home amongst a bunch of equipment. "We fit, huh? How so? Like a silver fox and an ink maiden? Like peanut butter and chocolate?" She held out her hands, wanting him to move nearer to her.

"Silver fox, huh? Old man lusting after a much younger woman." He had no idea how old she was but he had to be closer to the age of her parents than her own age. "Yeah, we're like a peanut butter cup. Tasty and can't have just a little sample."

He didn't know how to describe how they fit. They just did.

"You're not too old. Not for me." Knowing they had a few minutes until she was needed with the directors, Abby was tempted to tantalize Jet a little more. Pulling him towards her, she settled him between her legs, her bare thighs coming in contact with his body. "Can't just have a little taste?" she asked.

He crouched a little and anchored her hips on top of his. "Does that feel like I want a little taste? I want to bend you over and take you here. I want to make you scream. I want you to forget who we are and just feel."

Clinging to his shoulders, she moaned, "No, that doesn't feel little at all. God, I've been waiting all day to feel you there, Jet. Since the first moment you looked at me. Since even before we met, I've been waiting. I've been waiting forever."

He was so damn hard again and he couldn't resist thrusting against her. "Your friends aren't here to save the day now. Are we on DVD here?"

Rolling her hips against him, she replied, "No friends. No surveillance. Just Bert," she teased, using her head to gesture to her hippo.

He reached under her skirt, tapping once where she was moist and hot. "I need you…but not here. Not this way. In a bed where we can take our time and I can worship you like you deserve to be worshipped."

He wasn't sure he'd been waiting forever for her, but definitely since he'd lost Shannon. "The first time is always special, Abby. Doesn't need to be rushed."

She almost came when he touched her, when he flicked against her moistened panties. But when he took his hand away, she pouted. "I can't tempt you?" she asked hopefully. "Even a little?" she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Probably laid it on too thick with that 'forever' line, Sciuto. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his, even as her body moved against him, trying to find friction, trying to tempt him to let go. "Pretty sure each time with you will be special, Fox."

"No, you can't tempt me. Means too much to me for a little ache to ruin." Big ache! He brought his hand closer, scenting her, closing his eyes. "Pretty sure you're gonna be the death of an old man, Inky."

When he smelled his fingers, smelled her scent on them, Abby bit her lower lip as a wave of desire crashed through her. "Serves me right to try and tempt a Marine," she said, groaning.

He found a stool and sat down on it, pulling her firmly onto his lap, legs splayed out to either side of his and her pelvis tipped against his, driving them together. "Let go, Abby. I want to watch you let go." That said and throwing all caution to the wind, he held her hips and rubbed her core over his firmly, guiding her over him in rapid motions. If his self control held out, he might not ruin his pants, but he needed her to fall over the edge for him. Now.

"No death, Fox. Only hours and hours of pleasure," she assured him. Following after him, she moaned as he settled her straddling his lap. "Finally, not enough, Jet, not even close, but finally," she said, rubbing along his length. But then he was taking a hold of her hips, driving their bodies together, the friction overwhelming her.

Tossing her head back, she felt her body climbing higher and higher. "Jet," she cried, "Oh God, yes….oh, yes."

He barely held on to his self control as she threw her head back, riding his body, using his body for her pleasure. "That's right, Inky, Let it happen." That she was giving him control was its own turn on and he rubbed her harder and faster, determined to pull it out of her.

He lowered his head, working the tightened crest of a nipple into his mouth as she cried his name, biting down lightly as he felt her stiffen and then shake.

She was amazed and flushed, not used to someone desperate for her to seek release. And then she was flying, her body tingling as her orgasm flew her up into the sky. As she slowly regained herself, Abby slumped against him, drained from Jet's attentions.

With a chuckle, he eased her off him and onto the chair. He needed a bathroom or he was going to make a mess. "Bathroom?" he asked her, eyes wild, fighting what he needed.

"Nuh uh," she countered. "You don't get away that easily. I may not be able to tempt you, but you're not running away from me. Not after that." Grabbing his belt, she pulled him to her. "I may not get to have you thrusting inside of me, but I'm going to have you one way or the other."

Keeping her eyes on him, she undid his belt and pants. Pushing his pants and underwear down around his ankles, she gave him an evil grin. As she lowered her eyes, her hands moving up his legs, she gasped at the display in front of her. "Mmm…" she moaned, trailing her hand along his length.

"Don't tease me," he growled. He knew he should push away, to stumble off and find a bathroom, but he was too close to being gone with her hand on him. "You like?" he asked, surrendering, his body moving into her hand. He wanted to tell her that his was the only one she'd ever see or need, but that was too arrogant for this moment. And he wouldn't lose this moment for anything.

He wasn't going to be able to hold off very long and he was going to disappoint the hell out of her.

"Not teasing, Jet. Never teasing. And yes, I like…very much," she groaned before licking at the drop of pre-cum glistening in front of her. One hand clasped around the base of his cock, the other wrapped around to anchor herself by grabbing onto his ass. Lowering her head, she licked up his length, before lowering her head to swallow him deep.

Moaning against the rigid flesh in her mouth, she started to bob her head slowly, licking her tongue around the veins and ridges.

"Abby, this is gonna be a sprint and not a marathon." Even saying that took too much concentration and he started to lose control. His body was shaking and he was constricted by his pants around his ankles, which was a damned good thing because otherwise he would be driving himself into her heat.

He brought his hand to his mouth, tasting her. "Can't wait to devour you," he whispered, and with her flavor in his mouth, he started shaking unable to hold back any more. "Abby…" he whispered as his body started shivering harder, his balls drawing up.

Feeling his body tense up, hearing his moan, Abby increased her motions, making little noises in the back of her throat. And then his release came gushing into her mouth as she swallowed everything he gave her. Sucking and licking him clean, she only let him go when she was done, still pumping him slowly, wanting his orgasm to drag out.

Making sure she got every last drop, she looked up at him and smiled her evil little grin, pleased that in the end she had almost gotten her way after all.

"Oh hell," he managed, barely able to stand on his own. It had been a while—a damn long while. He'd been on two back to back ops and had only trusted his hand for company. "Find me a place to lie down before I collapse," he managed, the aftershocks ripping through him.

Arching an eyebrow, she grabbed his pants and pulled them up around his waist. "It's a good thing I made up the futon?" she teased as she led him to the bed on the floor. Forcing him to lie down, she stretched out next to him, propping her head on her hand. Watching him, she caressed his face, saying, "I'm that good, huh?" not really believing it.

"You're good," he assured. "Been years," he admitted. "Been so deep undercover for so long I haven't dated and I can't allow myself to get close enough to someone to…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "Allow myself…." Gibbs shrugged, unwilling to finish that sentence and lay himself open like that. He righted his clothes and then took her hand, pulling her closer. "Wanted the first time to be special, not fevered groping in your lab."

Settling her cheek against his chest, she assured him as she traced patterns on his tux shirt, "And it will be, Jet. This was just a preamble, a precursor, a prelude to what will happen when we're finally alone in that bed you promised. Ah, so it wasn't my prowess on your skin, but rather years of lack of attention? I'm flattered," she teased. Serious now, she said, "But I am touched, Jet. That, even though you don't really know me, that you trust me enough to be vulnerable."

"Both," he admitted quietly, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You get under my skin, not to mention into my pants." He'd never been the kind of guy to sleep on a first date but with her he seemed to be a new person, part Jet, part Gibbs. The best of both men were emerging for her and he couldn't comprehend what that meant for them both.

He sighed, stroking her hair and tugging her much closer.

She sighed happily and snuggled in closer. "Why do I feel so safe with you? So centered? This feels so wonderfully new but also so comfortably familiar?"

Groaning, Abby realized she'd have to go soon, to give her own statement of the evening's events. And she knew there was nothing she wanted less than to leave his arms. Raising her head, she looked at the door to the ballistics lab. Seeing it still opened, she smiled. "Speaker phone's still on," she told him, not thinking that he really couldn't read her mind. "When Director Morrow needs me, I'll hear him call. I don't want to leave here, don't want to leave your arms."

"No plans to let you," he remarked, giving her a gentle smile. "This is something new and special but I know what you mean. I'm not romantic." Not normally, anyway. "You shattered the rules."

He breathed slow and easy, letting her burrow against him and understanding and remembering what this completeness was. He knew he was deluding himself, that there was so much more stress in their world and this was so new and fragile. And he was old enough to know that he had to take what he could from this bond right now, because the world was a cold and lonely place and it was just outside those doors.

Turning back to him, she returned his smile. "Good, because when we're at your hotel, I plan on more of this, lots more. Lots more of exploring each other. Lots more cuddling. Hope you don't mind cuddling either. Because you're gonna have to deal with me. I like to touch and stroke," she offered, as she laid her head back down on his shoulder, her hand stroking across his stomach.

"Not with the right woman," he shot back, groaning as she stroked his stomach. At some point she had opened his shirt and he almost purred when her hands moved over his skin, his head falling further back. It had been so long since anyone had wanted to touch him and this was nice. Domestic. Comfortable. Right.

He stopped his thought process before any more loaded words crept into his mind. He had to be the one full of reason, to balance out her impulsiveness. It was nice to be with someone who hadn't had her impulsiveness wrenched from her forcefully.

"Well, then am I the right woman?" Hearing his sounds of pleasure, she giggled. "Oooh…looks like I found a place you like to be touched." When his head fell back, she leaned in and started kissing and licking at the pulse point on his neck.

"Time will tell," he allowed, his natural cautiousness rearing up. "Yeah big strong tough guy likes to be touched sometimes. By a beautiful woman who drives him crazy and pushes him beyond his limits or common sense."

"Then it is a good thing I enjoy touching big strong tough guys. Well, you in any case. Seemed to have lost my interest in touching anyone else."

"Good," he growled playfully. "I don't share." Then something occurred to him. "You're not…seeing anyone else, not interested in anyone else?" He knew his situation had to be clear, but hers could be muddled. "Baby Face…Tim? He has it bad for you."

"Nope, there's no one else. Haven't gone out with anyone for awhile. I got tired of being too much for the guys I was dating. Too tall, too many tats, too much black, too much. And Tim doesn't have it bad for me. We tried dating once, didn't work. We just didn't seem to…fit. We have a connection, but more like friends or siblings than anything romantic."

"Never enough for me," he shot back. It was interesting that she and Baby Face had dated. He would have bet that Baby Face pursued her while she was absolutely uninterested. He'd been known to be wrong before.

"You intrigue me, Abby. Elegance and gothic clothes. Self assured but whimsical at the same time. You're a puzzle. Can't wait to take you apart and see how you tick."

Unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, she played along the muscles of his chest, wondering at the feel of him. Normally, the guys she was with rarely had a muscle structure like his, and Abby found herself melting at the sight of him. "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed when all you find inside is a strange array of springs, black lipstick and Caf-Pow. Can you be satisfied with that?"

"And liquid heat," he said in a low growl, bringing her hand lower. "Already turned on again. Like a thirteen year old rather than a grown man." Granted, he wasn't completely hard yet, but he was well on his way. Looked like his body was making up for lost time.

"And that was not a hint," he said with a chuckle.

"Well, you're no thirteen year old boy, Jet." Laughing, she gently squeezed his growing erection. "But don't worry, I'm going to save this next round for later, when I can spend some more time…exploring your body." But in the meantime, she didn't mind having a little fun rubbing along his length.

"Enough," he said, capturing her hands. Time she learned that turnabout was fair play. He peeled off her panties and stuffed them in the pocket of his tux pants. "Much better. Much, much better." His hands played over her flesh, dipping with her natural curves, one finger working her bud, while another lightly penetrated her.

She struggled, only lightly, when he caught her hands. Falling back, she laughed a little to cover her sudden shyness as he stole her panties, her breath catching in her throat. But that breath exploded a moment later when his hand started working her flesh. Arching up, she was shocked, when he penetrated her with his finger, that she was so ready so quickly. Moaning, she cried out, "Jet."

"Rule number one," he began as he stroked in and out of her heated flesh. "You are mine. No discussion, no debate. You are mine. Understand me?"

Her mind and body were so focused on what he was doing to her that she didn't understand what he meant. "Rules? You have rules?"

Her moans were increasing as her body started to thrash on the futon. Grasping at the bedding underneath her, she arched slightly against the pressure he was building between her legs. "Oh, God, Jet. Please…don't stop."

"No plans to stop. Ever." He chuckled low, leaning in to kiss her deeply, adding another finger in and pushing them in and out of her soaked center. "Fall apart for me. Then I want you to go up there, knowing I'm drenched in your scent, knowing I'm aching thinking about you."

"Rules. You. Mine. Nothing more complicated than that." He realized he was gasping himself as she moved on the bedding, squirming and moaning her need.

Opening up under his kiss, Abby felt the tremors start from deep within her, the sensations from his fingers sending electric shockwaves straight there. "Right, rule number one. I'm yours," she echoed as her climax crashed down, shattering her into tiny pieces as she moaned his name.

"Don't get too loud, someone might come running to your rescue and I'll never be able to explain my way out of this one." She was so damned responsive and he was so damned charmed. He watched the way her body shook and smiled with satisfaction, slowing his strokes as he sensed her coming down.

"When you're up there talking to them, know who has your panties in his pocket and your scent all over his hands."

Gasping, she looked up to him. "Not likely to forget, am I? You're really going to make me go up there without any underwear?" She was a bit shocked, would definitely be embarrassed, but also extremely turned on.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her body, amazed at the reactions it was giving from just a touch of his fingers. She couldn't wait to find out what would happen with other parts were touching her.

"Yup. Unless you have a spare pair around here and then I might wrestle you for them. Everything has changed, Abby. You're mine now. Mine." And there was a rightness to that, he couldn't deny it. She made him smile. She made him feel complete in a way he thought he could never be again.

Opening one eye, she gave him a saucy smile, "Those were my spare underwear. The other's in my bag are from tonight and were a little too…skimpy for work." In fact, there was hardly any fabric to them, designed for going under an evening dress with no panty lines.

"Good," he said with a languid smile. "Wish I'd gotten my hand higher up that dress then. You looked spectacular in it. Wear it for me sometime, just you and me. Got it?" Before he waited for an answer, he dipped his head, kissing her hard.

Moaning under him, she opened her mouth as he pressed his lips against her. Pushing her fingers through his hair, she grabbed onto him, arching up against his body. "Got it, Jet," she murmured against his lips. "With or without panties?"

"Always without for me. Unless I give you permission to be with." He was testing the waters with something new, something he liked a whole hell of a lot. And he suspected she might be of a similar…mindset.

Using her hips and hands, she rolled them over, straddling him. "Permission, huh? Is that how this is going to be between us…sir?" Her body was tingling again at the new direction their budding relationship was taking.

He froze, looking up at her. There was no way this swapping of roles would be so easy, this give and take so effortless. "Maybe," he said quietly, completely rocked to his core. "Depends on what you want and what your mindset is. And your role." When he reached up to touch her, he found his hand was shaking. They'd tapped into something deep and profound.

"Not here. We'll discuss it later," he promised.

Turning into his hand, she rubbed her cheek against his palm. His touch heated her skin, her body aching for his, still unfulfilled. Everything about the two of them made no sense. He was older than her, more military and hoo rah, for the good of the mission. She was Goth– well, not really but that was as close as anyone could come to describe her– more free spirit and Caf-Pow, with a farting hippo. They shouldn't work, they shouldn't fit because they didn't make sense. But for some reason beyond her understanding, they did.

"Later," she echoed.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Ducky knew he and Ziva had lingered for too long and he pushed back into the room slowly. Tim and Tony looked as if they were comfortably relaxed, given the gravity of the evening. "Drinks, my friends?" he asked, including Ziva in the equation.

"Not too much, Duck," Tim replied, knowing too much alcohol could make Tony even more morose. "We've still gotta go upstairs and debrief the directors when they call."

"Just a sip then, my boys. Are you all right? I know you were quite concerned that Abigail may have come to some harm at the stranger's hands."

"Yeah, Ducky. We're all right. Thanks for cleaning up the stuff. At least for me, I'm still worried for her. Whatever she's involved in, whoever Jet proves to be, if he's not good enough for Abby, if he hurts her in any way…" Tim let the threat hang in the air, knowing he didn't need to expand on it.

"Worried too," Tony admitted. "But we're all on her six. That has to count for something." He looked at McGee, thankful that the other man didn't make any comments on how vulnerable he'd been. He reached over and rubbed Tim's shoulder. "You're not alone."

"It does count for something, Tony. It counts for everything," Ziva added, putting her hand on Tim's other shoulder. Pulling Ducky into the little circle, she added, "That is what makes our team work, what makes us the best. The support, the caring, we do what is needed to be done."

"Now how do we approach Mike?" Ducky asked quietly. They had all been avoiding the last member of their team—their leader—and what he'd done to the FBI agent but it had to be dealt with.

"I think we allow the director to handle Mike and his actions. For us, we approach him the way we always do, as a team. We continue to work as he has trained us," Ziva suggested.

"But we don't support what he has done," Ducky replied softly. "I find it quite reprehensible that he attacked that man."

"As do I, Ducky," Ziva agreed, "As do we all." Looking around, she took in the nods of agreement from the men. "But what do we do? Ducky, you know him the best of us all."

"We need to let him know in a gentle but firm way that we don't support that behavior and if Brooks is a member of our team, he will be treated as such. Mike's dislike for the man could lead to his death, and by extension, Abby's."

"But you know Franks, Duck," Tim interrupted. "If we all approach him, tell him what to do and how to run his team and the op, he'll balk and dig himself further into his stubborn hole."

"You're right," Tony said quietly. "Who is the most non-threatening of us? Abby…or you, McGee."

"I would think Ducky would be," Ziva offered. "He has worked with Franks the longest. It should not be Abby. He would only view her opinion as jaded by Brooks' influence and her emotions."

Ducky nodded, placing a hand on McGee's shoulder. "We'll go together. If he fears he's being lectured, Timothy can spout off some of his computer terminology and Mike's eyes will glaze over. Sounds mutually beneficial, don't you think, Timothy?"

"Works for me, Ducky. I'll pull out all the stops with the technical jargon. And if that fails, you can always launch into a story about something that reminds you of something else."

~*~

Tapping the call button, Morrow punched in the call numbers for Abby's lab. Hearing it go through, he called out, "Abby. Abby? You there?"

Hearing her name coming over the loud speaker, she said, "Whoops…" Crawling away from Gibbs, her skirt rising above the bottom of her ass, she made it to the door and called out, "Yes, Director?"

"You're needed in the conference room. Time for your debriefing, Abby"

"All right, Director. I'll be right up."

Turning back to Jet, she crawled slowly towards him. "Looks like our time's up for now."

Instead of going to his side, she moved over him, straddling him when she came to a stop. "Think you're going to be okay here, by yourself? I'll keep the door locked so no one can come busting through."

"I'll be fine, Inky," he assured, giving her a wink. Now that the sexual frustration was lessened, he was on a much more even keel. At least he knew where Jet ended and Gibbs began now.

"You sure? Maybe I wanna make sure to lock you in, so you can't run away from me." In truth, she knew he wouldn't leave the agency, not with the op on the line. But she hoped he'd want to stay for her too. Their little interlude, though it had taken the edge off, had really only made her crave more.

"I'm not running anywhere," he assured, giving her a gentle smile. "Go, shoo. I'll just lie here quietly and decompress."

"Shoo?" Laughing, she bent down and quickly kissed him on the lips. "I don't think anyone's ever said shoo to me before." Pushing back on her heels, she said, "I'll be quick, don't know much of what I'll have to add. Relax and I'll be back soon."

Standing up, she smiled down at him, before moving towards the door with a swirl of her skirt.

"Well, I'm not telling ya to get lost because I want you back here. Soon." He watched her go and expelled a long breath of air, letting his eyes close and moving his hand close to his mouth. The edge was off his sexual need, he was well fed, and now he could start to relax. With relaxation would come focus.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, before disappearing from the lab.

~*~

Making her way unhindered, Abby stopped in front of the conference room. Knocking, she waited to hear the Director call her in.

"Come in Abby we've been waiting for you," Morrow called.

Martin automatically stood as she walked in and came around to hold her chair. "Ms. Sciuto, I wanted to thank you personally and on behalf of the agency for the hands on approach you've taken with regard to Special Agent Gibbs. Is he winding down?"

Abby couldn't stop the bright crimson blush that stained her cheeks at Director Fletcher's comment about hands on with Jet. "Yeah, I made up my futon in the ballistics lab, put some candles around. He says he's going to decompress while I'm in here." Sitting down next to Morrow, she said, "Okay, I'm here. What do I need to do?"

"Director Fletcher, do you want to ask some questions of her first? Or should she just start in a summation?" Morrow asked of his friend.

Martin smiled and nodded. "I'm certain that will help." He looked to Tom and then began his questioning. "Did you make eye contact with Gibbs at all? Did you feel that he was in any way tracking you or expressing interest? Why don't you tell us about the events up to the point that you and Gibbs met."

_Just like a band aid, Sciuto. If you just rip it off, it'll hurt less. _But despite that conversation with herself, she knew that telling the directors about the connection she and Jet had started that night would be embarrassing. "Before he made verbal contact with me when he brought me a glass of champagne, I saw him watching me. It unnerved and intrigued me at the same time. I was supposed to be on the lookout for someone to make contact with me for the drugs. Even without the tattoo on my neck, it was still obvious I was different, and Franks was hoping that difference would spark that contact."

Fiddling with her fingers, she continued, "When he came up to me, there was this…attraction. Overwhelming. The connection we shared, we share, is unlike anything I've ever felt before. I wasn't prepared for it. Jet suggested that we go somewhere more…private to, um, talk. When we got into the alcove, he…we kissed. I thought he was going for my necklace and I took my stun gun to him," she finished racing over that part.

"What happened next, I don't really know much about since I ran to the van. I did see him soon after, when he was cuffed with Ziva and Tim guarding him. Back at NCIS, I went to fingerprint him…and when I was finished, that's when Mike came in. Mike…hit him, several times, before I could stop him. It was…horrible, Director," she ended on a whisper.

Getting up, Morrow moved to the side of her chair and knelt down. "Abby, it's alright. I can't imagine how much that scared you. And you told me before, but for Director Fletcher's benefit, can you tell us one more time? Did Gibbs hurt you? Did he do anything to cause that reaction from Franks?"

"No, Director!" Abby exclaimed quickly. "Jet…touched me, but not without my permission. I…I wanted him to. I don't know why Franks reacted that way, but it's my fault. I think he was just trying to protect me."

Martin felt the same urge to protect her, was glad when Tom did first. "It's okay, Abby," he said quietly. "We understand how hard it is for you to recount this." He had to let out a mental smile that Jethro had made such a smooth move on the woman.

"You did absolutely right, Abby," he said in his firmest tone of voice. "The fact that you shocked him isn't at issue here. I'm much more concerned with the reactions of my agent and Special Agent Franks."

"But if I had been able to control my reactions, to not be so…shaken up, maybe Franks wouldn't have felt the need to protect me and wouldn't have beaten Jet."

Martin knew it was against protocol but he couldn't help reacting. He knelt at her other side, lightly touching her arm. "Ms. Sciuto, you did nothing to cause this. Nothing whatsoever. Jethro and Franks are grown men and both are more responsible for this than you could ever be."

She smiled down at the FBI director, knowing that someone like him rarely put himself out to comfort subordinates. His job was to lead their people, not make sure guilt wasn't misplaced. "Thank you, Director Fletcher. I can see why you and Director Morrow are such good friends. You two are a lot alike."

Morrow had to contain himself when Abby started blaming herself. He saw Martin go up to her and was a bit surprised at the other director's need to comfort Abby. Then again, Abby seemed to bring that nature out in the men, and in some women like Ziva, that she worked with. In all his years as an agent and then director of NCIS, he'd never met someone like Abby, someone who inspired such a need to protect. He just hoped that Jet was the man he appeared to be, man enough to protect without smoothing the forensic scientist.

Martin glanced over at Tom and gave both him and Abby a sheepish smile. He knew that they knew that this wasn't the done thing, either for him personally, or within his agency. He patted her knee gently and went back to his seat. "Do not take on the blame or responsibilities of others, Abby."

"I'll try, Director. Can't guarantee anything, but I'll try." Fiddling with an invisible mark on the table, she asked, "So, what next? Am I going undercover? What's going to be my identity? Have you worked out how I'm going to be fitted in with Jet's cover yet?"

Martin spoke first. "We want to work both operations simultaneously, which will mean a lot of work on both of your parts. You need to make sure you're up to the task before you confirm. It could be months, Abby. Months where you don't see family or friends and months where you have to pretend to be someone you're not."

He wanted to tell her that she couldn't jump in and out of a persona like Jet had this evening. Even a seasoned agent like Jet was feeling the effects and he'd soon have to be Brooks again, with Brooks' more cultured vocabulary and no boats or bourbon. And blessedly, no dead wife and daughter to mourn. Martin understood why Gibbs became so involved in his personas. They were an escape of sorts.

Taking a deep breath, Abby started talking through the decision, working out even to herself why she was doing it. "And I know, if I say yes, you guys will be worried I'm doing it because of the strange connection I have with Jet. And that's not it, at least that's not the main reason I'm doing it. I saw those bodies, Directors. I saw what those drugs did to those people. If I don't go and try and stop whoever's cutting those drugs with even deadlier poison, I'm not going to be able to live with myself."

Tilting her head up, trying to show strength, even in the face of a decision that terrified her a bit, she finished, "I'm in."

Martin looked at Tom and when he got the nod, he began speaking. "You're Jet's ex wife, you two are reconciling. He saw you at the party. Tobias Fornell and Jet will be working with you and your team. We'll need to establish marital and divorce records, a joint credit history and a separate one for you, as well as your complete background. We'll do this when you're done here."

"Jet's told me about what I'll have to do to go undercover for this op. These ops," she corrected herself. "I know I won't see my life or my apartment for a long while. Probably can't take Bert with me, huh?" she asked, hoping one of the directors would tell her she could. "And I know I won't be able to tell my family I'm all right…"

"Who is Bert? No….a pet wouldn't work for this operation. You'll have to have someone watch him for you." Martin nodded. "Welcome to the operation then, Ms. Scuito." He had his reservations about this, but Tom was convinced his girl was the right choice and Martin trusted Tom's instincts.

"Write out postcards to your family, "Martin continued. "We'll have them posted from different locations. Fornell and Gibbs will coach you on what to say. We don't want your family or friends worrying about your health or well-being."

"Guess you guys have been giving this a lotta thought since I left. Who's working on the background records? McGee'd probably be a really useful there. He's got some talents hacking into places he shouldn't," she said with a soft smile.

Martin knew that Tobias would be on a secure line open to the FBI and the best document preparers on the horn. "We'll work together and utilize your agents' skills." He winked at Tom. The two directors probably shouldn't be hearing this.

Tom started laughing at Martin's questioning of Abby's Bert. "Bert is Abby's hippo, a stuffed animal she's had as long as I've known her. It even farts when you hug it; an Abby special. But no, probably not Abbs. A farting hippo probably won't fit well in with the ex, now full wife of Jet Brooks."

Hearing Morrow laugh, Abby smiled in response. "Okay. Someone's going to have to take care of him then. I don't want strange people in my lab, playing with Bert. He's sensitive. Hey, maybe Special Agent Fornell's daughter would be interested in taking care of her." She perked up a little at that thought. She'd hate to leave Bert with complete strangers.

Martin couldn't stop grinning when he heard about the hippo. "Emily would love that. She's got just the right sense of humor to appreciate him and I know she'll keep him safe."

"Than it's settled. I'll give Bert to Fornell for his daughter for safekeeping." Abby smiled at that, strangely comforted now that Bert's well-being was being looked after.

Martin looked to Tom. "Do we need anything more from Abby right now? Where do you want her? With Fornell or Gibbs or both?"

"I believe we have what we need from her. Abby, go see Fornell. Help him with setting up your history, linking it with Brooks'. Franks is down there in the squad room as well working the angle. See if you can't get him to see reason, to calm down. If he can't, Abby I'm taking him off the op as lead. I won't see you harmed because his ego is in the way."

Standing up, she walked over to her director, kneeling next to him, though she was careful to keep her skirt smoothed down. "Thank you," she whispered before heading out the door.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Ducky rested a hand on McGee's shoulder as they walked into the elevator. "How is Tony doing? It appeared as if you had a nice chat with him."

Shrugging his shoulder, Tim answered, almost sheepishly. "Tony's hanging in, we all are. When this is over, he and I are going to talk it out. Sometimes, I forget that maybe he's not really an arrogant jerk, even though he acts like it sometimes."

"It is much easier to assume that he has always been this character," Ducky began quietly. "Rather than remembering that this character is part of some defense system he needed to employ."

"But is that really fair to him, Ducky? I just can't see him as some frat boy, womanizer whose most complicated thoughts are where to go Saturday night and who he's going to sleep with after. There's more to him than that, Ducky."

"There is, Timothy. There is a great deal more to him. He's a highly intelligent man. Remember, he did an exceptional job in sports at a very high level, as well as doing well at university classes. I've done some research. Ohio State's physical education program isn't easy. But his persona disarms suspects and it is as comfortable as a familiar pair of slippers or a favorite sweater."

"But it must be hard to live like that, constantly put up a front, hiding yourself from everyone. I know we all wear masks, not always showing who we really are. But to constantly have to be someone you have nothing in common with, that's gotta be difficult, Ducky…tiring, wearing. Must be like being undercover. Guess Tony has more in common with our FBI guest than he thought."

"Undoubtedly. I fear only Abigail gets to know the real Tony, the one minus all the masks. It would be wonderful if he'd trust us enough to let us in."

"But at least there is someone he does confide in. Otherwise, he might explode from keeping it all inside. And he seems to confide pretty easily in Abby; most people do."

"She gathers people to her without even meaning to," Ducky agreed with a nod.

~*~

Tony looked over at Ziva and then his watch. "Want to check on Abbs with me?"

"Sure, Tony. I would like to see her, to make sure that she is well. Think she is in the lab?"

"Must be. Bet she's running facials on anyone we saw." Tony hit the stairs rather than the elevator and reached for the door to the lab. Expecting it to open like normal, his momentum threw him against the door. It was never locked, but today it was. "Hey Abbs! Abbs?"

Pushing, Tony aside, Ziva pulled out her picking tool and had the door quickly unlocked. Stepping aside, she let Tony through first, knowing he had to slip into his role as the team leader. It wouldn't be easy for her friend and partner. But she would see to it her support was there.

Jethro had been on the brink of sleep when he heard someone calling for Abby. "She isn't here," he replied, sitting up and buttoning his shirt.

Ballistics lab? Tony made his way to it and stopped suddenly, watching Brooks buttoning his shirt up. "Oh…um…hi."

"Hi." Jethro stood, extending his hand. "Weren't formally introduced. I'm Gibbs, Jethro Gibbs from the FBI. You're…Tony?"

"Yeah. Anthony DiNozzo. Special Agent..." Tony winced at the bruises on the guy's face, especially the one at the temple. "Sorry about that," he muttered, turning and looking for Ziva.

"Don't be. I'm fine." He noticed the agent looking around. "She isn't here," he repeated. "They called her up for a debriefing."

"Ziva? Oh, you mean Abbs? Yeah…okay. Ziva?"

"I am right here, DiNozzo. Just because you decide to break protocol and take the stairs at a run, does not mean that I have to." Smiling at Jet, she said, "It is good to see you again. Your bruises do not look so bad. Though in the morning, I may change my opinion."

Jethro shrugged. "They'll keep with the whole daredevil appearance."

"Yeah, very James Bond like," Tony had to admit.

Gibbs smiled. "I guess. Good to see you again, Ziver. And meet you both properly."

"Without breaking heads into the wall again, this is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. And Tony you have already met Jet Brooks, aka Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Special Agent with the FBI."

Tony nodded. "Special Agent," he said quietly.

"Just Jethro is fine."

"Jethro, then. I'm Tony. Your head okay? Did they feed you?"

"I'll be fine," Jethro assured, stretching his back out. "Yeah, we ate. They just called Abby up. My director and yours are doing the debriefings."

"And I assume we will be next, yes?" Ziva wondered to herself. "I do not look forward to having to discuss Franks' dealings tonight, his beating of you mainly, with them. Director Morrow will not be pleased with his actions."

She knew of Jethro's ability to get out of handcuffs almost as easily as she could. And because she had been outside of the interrogation room when he and Abby had been alone, she could only assume he had been out of the cuffs with her. That was why she knocked on the door when she had seen Franks coming down the hall. Though the man had proven to be quite honorable so far, Ziva did not necessarily like that her responses to Jethro in essence had her choosing the FBI agent over Franks. Her loyalty had never been so torn before, and especially not over a stranger.

"Probably," Jethro agreed. "Special Agent Franks acted with the best of intentions." Why he felt the need to defend the other man was something he didn't understand.

"He knew you before, didn't he?" Tony asked even though he knew the answer.

"Briefly," Jethro allowed. "He investigated a crime against someone I cared about while I was overseas. We met after the fact. Guess he remembered me but not all the facts."

"Franks acted with far more violence than the situation warranted, despite his wanting to protect Abby."

"He did. But you or I might have reacted in the same way if we thought someone was being harmed and had the facts wrong," Jethro challenged quietly, meeting her eyes. "You and I already established that we're similar and…"

"You bonded with him?" Tony asked Ziva incredulously.

"In a way, yes I did. While you were blustering around, thinking Abby was being hurt, I was investigating the character of the prisoner. That is what we do, Tony…investigate. It is what you and Franks, even Tim, have been plowing me over the head with since the day I arrived at NCIS. To investigate the facts before I come to any conclusions. With you and Franks inarguably covering Abby's end, I thought to find out the man we had in custody until such time as I could talk to Abby myself."

"And if he'd been a dirtbag, what then?" Tony folded his arms over his chest, very annoyed about this new development.

"But I'm not. I'm an agent with more seniority than you, I bet. And it was smart of her to assess the situation. She established a rapport and I told her I had some additional weapons you didn't find."

"What?" Tony whipped around, looking at Ziva.

Shrugging, Ziva replied, "I thought it best not to inform you of that at the time. You were already high strung enough without that information. Apparently, you and McGee did not search him well enough, or be concerned with whether or not your captive could pick locks."

"Pick locks? Are you serious? Who expects that? Did he get out of the cuffs or something?" Tony rounded on Jethro. "You're a regular Houdini."

"Acquired talent," he shot back mildly.

"What did we miss, Ziva? And where?"

"Plastic knife at the left of his zipper, inside the pants. He told me about it after I had escorted him to Interrogation. He did not have to, Tony. He could have waited, used it against Abby when she printed him. But he did not; he gave up the information willingly. That is why I knew I could trust him alone with Abby, Tony. Yet no one has really asked me about that."

She knew Tony would hate her apparently defending the FBI agent, but Ziva had had enough with the bickering and power plays. It was time for straightforward honesty, and no more pissing matches and bruised egos.

"I didn't even think to pat down his crotch, Ziva. I went up the legs, checked under arms right down the torso." Tony shook his head. This was bad; if Gibbs had been a criminal he could have killed them all. "I did it by the books, what every LEO would have done!"

Jethro started to open his mouth and then thought the better of it. They needed to work this out themselves.

"I'm not condemning you, Tony, or telling you how to do your job. McGee was there and had no additions to your search. I know I had opportunities to search him, and I did not. I was merely referencing that Gibbs had ample opportunity to attempt an escape, to overcome one of us."

"He's a federal agent just like us. He wouldn't, didn't..." Tony was getting frustrated. "He's screwing up everything," he muttered, feeling like a petulant child but unable to stop himself.

"But I could have," Jethro pointed out quietly. "When I thought you guys might be the enemy, I considered it, but I needed intel."

Tony shook his head, still feeling angry and annoyed.

"Why do you think he is screwing up everything, Tony? There is no screw up, only a glitch the directors are working on fixing." Ziva was confused at Tony's behavior. He normally behaved as a senior agent, not like a child.

Tony turned to look at Ziva. "One night. I was a little nervous about Abby going undercover at all, but it was just supposed to be for one night. Now we have this situation with this guy and her connection with him and I can't like it. Abby is someone who wears her heart on her sleeve. Abby could die and he's just as responsible as Mike for putting her in that situation. Someone needs to be pissed that our forensic scientist who couldn't deal with being an agent is going back. Might not be professional or mature but he's the one I'm pissed at for it."

"Then be concerned, be pissed, but do not act like a spoiled child. Bring your concerns to the director, to both directors. Do not make it a pissing match against another agent, even if he is the cause."

"Point taken, Ziva," Tony said quietly. Even though he knew he probably deserved it, he didn't like being called out in front of the FBI agent.

"Good, now can we return to what we were originally discussing?"

"How I missed a knife in the fly," Tony remarked quietly.

"Before that, DiNozzo. We all missed it, or chose to not investigate further. I did not mention that to take away your manhood," she said bluntly.

"Didn't comment thinking that you were, Ziva. You asked a question and I answered it," Tony replied in that same quiet voice, not interested in starting any more conflict in front of the Feeb.

"Before that, we were discussing that you two had some things in common and had bonded."

"So, what do we do now, Tony?" For some reason, she had upset the equilibrium. She wanted to write the balance within the team. It was bad enough that the team was out of sorts with Mike. Ziva didn't want the team to fall apart because of this.

"We find common ground," Tony said in a firm voice. "We work together. We remember that we're all on the same side trying to stop criminals from hurting others." It wasn't much of a rallying cry but he hoped it would motivate Ziva.

"That sounds like a great plan, Tony. And most importantly, we have to unite to protect Abby. Even with you, Jethro," Ziva said, including Jethro again in the conversation. "We need to make sure that she is safe. She will go into this guns blazing, without really thinking about the dangers to herself."

Jethro nodded. "She will be with me, Ziva. I can promise you both that." He met Ziva's eyes and then Tony's. "I know everything shook you all up, but we really are on the same side. Fornell, Director Fletcher, Sacks, Blumenthal. They're like me. They want answers and to put the criminals away just like you. Just like me."

"And we will all be behind the two of you; Tony, Tim, myself, the rest of both agencies." Ziva was confident that, with both agencies pulling their resources, and with Jet and Abby's individual expertise, the op would not put any of the people involved at risk. Especially Abby.

~*~

Martin watched Abby leave and then turned to Tom. "She's just as interesting as you've always said. I think Jethro will have his hands full. Good thing. He needs the challenge. Hasn't been challenged like that in a good long time." He stared at the closed door. "Is she the right girl for this job, Tom?"

"I think she'll surprise us both in the end. Though she tends to run around like a hyperactive bunny on adrenaline, Abby's probably one of the most intelligent people you'd ever work with. Maybe not so street-wise like Tony or Ziva, but she can find solutions to problems most give up on, or find new, creative ways to find evidence in places most give up on."

He nodded, having gotten that impression from him. "Who are we speaking with next?" He was finding the groupings of this agency very intriguing. It sure beat sitting behind a desk all day.

"How about one of the other agents, Ziva, Tony, or McGee?" Morrow suggested. "We could do one at a time or all three."

"Tony and McGee were the first to see Jet, weren't they? And Ziva was in the van?" When Morrow confirmed that, he nodded. "All of them together is fine with me. We're close to midnight and I know we all want to get out of here before dawn."

"Lord knows that doesn't happen often enough." Chuckling, he picked up the phone and punched in Tony's cell phone.

Tony exhaled quickly, flipping his phone open. "DiNozzo."

"DiNozzo. Find David and McGee and come to the conference room."

"Director? Ziva and I are here with the FBI agent in Abby's lab. You mind him staying here?" Tony wanted to ask if the director trusted him to stay here but he didn't dare. And Tony was very curious to see that the director called him rather than Mike calling him. Tony was starting to get a serious sinking feeling about all of it.

"Abby set up the lab for him to regroup after this evening's events. Leave him there, Tony. Got any idea where McGee is?" Morrow could hear the doubt in Tony's voice. But he knew the agent would wait to voice his concerns when the moment arose.

"I'll find him, Sir. I think he and Ducky were going to check on Mike." Tony stepped a few paces away from Ziva and Brooks. Getting an audience with the director wasn't an everyday thing and he knew he had to take advantage of it. "Sir, is Mike op ready? If you need me to take a bigger part in this investigation, I'll be glad to step up. Just tell me what you need. I'd prefer not to go through Mike for this, for obvious reasons."

"I understand your concerns, Tony, and I appreciate you voicing them, as Director Fletcher and I have the same concerns. When we are done debriefing you three, I will be having another discussion with Franks. If I find that he cannot be trusted with this, I will be asking you to step in. Be prepared for that backlash, DiNozzo. I am sure the team will stand behind you if that becomes the case."

Tony was a little shocked by this but nodded even though the other man couldn't see him.  
"Sir, Ducky, McGee, Ziva, and I were eating together and discussing our concerns about this situation with Special Agent Franks. You may not have backlash and opposition from that corner. Ducky also knows one of the agents. Not Special Agent Sacks but a man named Sebastian Blumenthal. From Interpol. They sounded as if they're friendly."

As Morrow knew, the team had worked with Fornell and Sacks on a few operations in the past. Tony made a hand motion to Ziva. "We'll be right there, Sir."

~*~

Mike sighed dramatically as he and Fornell went toward the squad room. "Don't like your involvement. Aren't pretending I do."

"I'm hurt, Franks. And here I was, thinking you just wanted some alone time with me. And that's why you attacked my agent."

Mike snorted. "You're too hairy, too weasly and way too old for me, Fornell. You get some knockers and some long hair and longer legs and we might talk." Mike cocked his head to one side. "Nah, still have the same face."

"And you're no prize either, Franks. Gnarly old geezer. I don't think anything could make you more attractive. Not even a gut full of beer will help ya out there, Mike."

"The girls love me, Fornell. What've you got? Some redhead witch of an ex and a kid to support?"

"Careful where you're treading, Franks. I adore my little girl, and she's worth my having to deal with my ex. The girls may love you, you grisly bastard, but none seem to stick around long enough."

"She's a cute kid," Mike admitted. "But the ex is a barracuda, Fornell. Thought you were a better investigator than that."

"Being a good investigator has nothing to do with being a man. Sometimes, one head thinks louder than another."

Franks looked up as the elevator dinged and Ducky and McGee came out. "Party's not ready for you yet, boys."

Seeing the two coming off the elevator, Fornell nodded at McGee and Doctor Mallard. "The directors will want to see you, Agent McGee, when they're done with Abby. And possibly you too, Doctor Mallard."

"That's fine…fine, gentlemen." Mike gave Fornell a pointed look. "Could you give us some privacy, Agent Fornell?"

Mike grunted, looking at McGee and Ducky curiously. What was this about?

Looking between the three men, Fornell could feel the definite tension in the room. Deciding he needed a break before beginning the work head of him, he got up and stretched. "I need some coffee anyhow. That stuff in your break room still swill?" Getting nods from the men, he said, "I'll just head down the street then."

Giving the FBI agent a nod of thanks, McGee turned to the man seated in front of him. "Boss, we need to talk about what happened tonight?" He looked at Ducky, needing help already with this. How could he, who was still a Probie to them, have any influence or effect on their seasoned boss?

"What?" Mike asked, shifting in his chair. They didn't expect Probie to do a man's work, did they?

"Mike," Ducky began soothingly, sitting on the corner of the desk. "We're concerned that the emotions involved may lead to Abby getting hurt."

"Abby's fine." Mike ignored Ducky and focused instead on McGee. "You think I'm a threat to Abby?"

"We…um…we think that your opinion of Special Agent Gibbs might color your view of the situation. That maybe you're biased against him. And you may not be at the top of your game if you're worrying about him instead of the op. Abby could get seriously hurt, Boss. We can't let that go," he finished quickly.

"So what are ya gonna do, McGee, and don't interrupt, Ducky. Let the kid stand on his own feet and address me man to man." Mike stood now, staring into McGee's eyes. "What are ya gonna do about this perceived threat, McGee? Neutralize me?"

"Talk to you about it, Mike. See if you can be reasonable, if you can run this op objectionably. If you can't, I was going to ask you to step down as lead of the investigation, let Tony or even Fornell run it. I can't risk Abby to your pride, Mike. None of us can."

"I'm damned objective, McGee. I'm just worried about Abby. And you have no right to tell me to step down. You're still wet behind the ears, McGee," Mike growled. "Abby's never in danger where I'm concerned. Ya don't know that?"

"No, Mike. I don't know that. We…don't know that. How can you be objective in this situation when you look ready to take me out for bringing the subject up? Can you be trusted to look out for Gibbs' best interests? Because if you don't, you know Abby will. And you'll put her life in jeopardy."

"Because I don't like traitors on my team," Mike said in a low voice. "You have no right, McGee. You weren't a part of this, Probie."

Ducky winced, standing shoulder to shoulder with Timothy. "Abigail," he said quietly, watching her approach. "Perhaps we should all talk, Mike. Come here, dear girl?" Ducky lifted and arm and motioned Abby under it. He and Timothy would stand in solidarity beside her.

"Hey Ducky." Abby looked back and forth between Mike against Ducky and McGee. "What's going on here?"

"Abigail, we were having a chat with Mike about his objectivity in this case. If they decide to put you undercover at another party or something, Mike's lack of objectivity could put you at risk."

"Lack of objectivity? I'm not biased," Mike muttered. "You trust me, Girlie?"

"After what happened in interrogation, Mike? What do you think?" Her heart broke a little, but she knew Mike needed to hear it from her. Moving out from underneath Ducky's arm, she walked closer to him. "I'd trust you with most things, Mike, with almost everything in my life. But the way you're behaving, blaming Jet like he's the bad guy, beating him up in interrogation with no provocation…How can you say you're not biased? That you're not gonna go in there, into that op, with your objectivity shot? Normally, I'd trust you with my life, Mike. But Jet means…means a lot to me, more than I thought he would. I can't trust you with his life, or even Tony or McGee or Ziva's lives."

"I thought he was a damned dirtbag," Mike shot back, growling. "A dirtbag who murdered a little six year old girl and her mother." He grabbed the file and thrust it at her. "Read it, confuse the facts, tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing!"

"I don't have to read it, Mike. I don't want to. If and when Jet decides to tell me, I'll listen. The problem right now isn't what your behavior was; it's what you're doing now. You haven't apologized or even admitted you're wrong. You're still behaving like he's the perp, he's the murderer. If you can't even say you're sorry and move on, how can anyone think you'll be objective on this op?"

"It's not your business, Abby," Mike shot back. "Not any of your business. Between Director Morrow and me. And the other director. But nobody on my team has ever judged each other and it isn't going to start now, Girlie! Do you understand me?"

"Of course it's my business, Franks. It's my life on the line. Can't get any more my business. And no one's judging you, except for maybe yourself. Keep pushing me away, Franks. And you'll see how you fare then." Abby didn't need to threaten. She knew he'd understand. Nevertheless, her eyes started to tear up at the thought that this whole thing could put her and Mike on the outs. She adored the grisly old man, and he her, despite his behavior.

"Trust Morrow to make the right decision then." Mike was getting furious now. He very deliberately stripped off his badge and gun and put them on his desk. "And someone call me when the trial has ended. I'm getting a drink."

This betrayal from Abby, Ducky, McGee, ganging up on him. He was furious. Maybe this wasn't the place for him any more. He'd almost left when the damned Mossad officer was thrust upon him, but Tommy'd convinced him to stay.

Mike knew he'd been out of line, but they had no right to call him out repeatedly. If his team didn't respect him, maybe they needed to see what it was like to be without him.

Mike knew that he was reacting badly, burn out and exhaustion setting in. He'd been working sixty and seventy hours on this case every week and he'd completely lost perspective.

As he rode down in the elevator, he flipped his cell open, dialing Tom.

Hearing the beep of the call waiting, Morrow looked down at his phone. Seeing exactly who was calling in, Morrow put the phone back up to his ear and said to Tony, "I have to take this, Tony. Find McGee and come to the conference room." Hanging up on DiNozzo, he saw who was calling in. Taking a deep breath, he answered. "Director Morrow."

"It's Mike, Tom. Badge and gun are on my desk. Think you need to take 'em for now. Hold onto 'em for me. Get your girl to write me a leave of absence. They don't trust me and that's gonna screw the pooch for your operation," Mike said, speaking quietly. "Not quitting. Just sometimes a tactical retreat is called for. They're out for my blood. Means they aren't focused on the case."

"What do you mean they're out for your blood? Who are you talking about? What in the hell is going on?"

"Settle down, Tom," Mike said, feeling very old all of a sudden. "My team, they don't trust me. Demanding answers. Not taking my replies and interrogating me more. Gonna screw the pooch here if they're worrying about me and not Abby. Ya gotta know when to fold 'em, Tom. And I'm stepping back from the table so that I'll be able to play again."

"What are they questioning you about, Mike? You better give me a good explanation why my top agent is stepping away from this case. You willing to put Abby's life into Tony or Fornell's hands?" Granted, at this point, Morrow was having doubts as to Mike's capabilities. But he needed to make sure that all the bases were covered.

"Hitting Gibbs," Mike admitted quietly. "Tom, they lost faith in me. You want them worrying about my motives instead of being on the case? That'll get Abby killed and I'm not doing that. Not gonna be a part of that. Let Fornell take the lead. Let me step back until everything is set. Then I can come back in a week or so, work behind the scenes." Mike sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair,

"Tommy, Abby is more important than my pride."

Closing his eyes, Morrow took a deep breath. Having to make the decision to remove Mike from the case had been taken away from him, relieving some of the stress from him. For that, he was almost grateful. "For Abby, Mike. Get your head together. When things have calmed down, I expect you back in the saddle. You still got that old laptop in your house? Get it updated. I'll send someone from IT over there. Get you set up. That way, I can have any updates sent to you via that."

"For Abby, Tom. I wouldn't do this unless I know it was in her best interests. Laptop is at my place and ya can email me. Say, give it a week, Tom. Been meanin' to get some sleep for a couple weeks now." Mike wasn't as young as he tried to convince himself he was until it all caught up with him. And he knew he hadn't been objective beforehand, with Gibbs.

"Alright, Mike. I'll put the paperwork through. The IT guys will be there in the morning. Make sure you're up. Want to make sure you're still in the loop with this, Mike."

"I will be, Tommy. Just behind the scenes. DiNozzo is ready for this, Tom. He could take his own team if he wanted it and there was an opening." He and Tom had been through this before. "And Fornell, he's a good man. I trust them." It was hard to say it, but it was the truth.

Morrow knew Mike had his issues with Gibbs, especially with him being so close to Abby during this undercover op. But he appreciated, for now, that he was keeping it to himself. And what Mike didn't know was that Morrow had offered Tony his own team, after he had shown how capable he was when Mike was forced to recover. But Tony had turned it down, his loyalty to Mike driving him. "I know, Franks. And when he's ready, Tony will have it. Get some rest, my friend. I expect you to be back to work in a week."

"Got it, Boss." Mike said quietly and with genuine warmth in his voice. "Thanks, Tom. I owe ya one for this." It would have been within their rights of charges had been filed.

"Yeah, you do, Mike. Now go get some rest before I have to find you and headslap you. Take care, Mike." Hanging up the phone, he turned to Fletcher. "Looks like either your man or DiNozzo will be taking over the op. Mike's taking some vacation days."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Ducky watched as Mike left, turning to Tim and Abby, momentarily speechless. "I didn't….oh dear…"

"Mike…" Abby was shocked at his behavior. Mike was acting like he didn't even care what was at stake. He was choosing his pride over the op, over her. Turning to Ducky, she asked him with sad eyes, "Ducky? Ducky what did I do?"

"We let Director Morrow handle him," Ducky told her quietly, tightening his arm around her shoulder.

Fornell was coming out of the elevator when Franks brushed by him, slamming his hand on the button to close the door. "What the hell?"

Walking hurriedly to the bull pen, he demanded, "What the hell is Franks doing?"

When Fornell came closer, Ducky motioned to the badge and gun sitting on the blotter. "I believe he's taking a break. One hopes that it will be a very short one."

Ducky suspected Mike knew that the team had lost faith in him and was taking the decision out of Tom Morrow's hands. If it was truly a case of Abby's best interests rather than Mike's pride, it could be the best thing.

Gasping at the hurt, she murmured, "I didn't mean to make him leave, Ducky. I just…wanted him to know that he'd crossed the line…" Tim came up behind Abby and pulling her towards him and away from Ducky. She let some tears fall on his shirt, hurting that the day's events had separated her and Mike. He meant so much to her, that she could only hope when everything had calmed down he would understand.

"Abby, you didn't do anything wrong. He did cross a line, my sweet girl." Ducky moved up close behind Abby and stroked her hair, giving Fornell a sad look. "I think he may know that he reacted badly and he needs to take a step away for a moment to clear his head. His worry about you must have been immense, dear girl, and he's been working such long hours here on the case."

He passed his hand over her back gently. "You didn't cause this, Abigail."

Turning towards him, Abby looked at Ducky skeptically. "But how do I fix this, Ducky? I did this to the team. Me. If I hadn't…then he wouldn't have…" But Abby knew she was beating a dead horse. Still didn't stop the guilt though.

"You can't, dear girl. Only Mike can do that. This is something that he created and he is responsible. You can't control this, dear girl. You have to be focused on the undercover operation. For the FBI agents as well as yourself."

"I know, Ducky. Doesn't help the guilt though." Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from him. Looking around at what was left of the team, sans Jet but with Fornell, she questioned. "So, what do we do now?"

Stepping forward, Fornell said, "You're with me, Ms. Sciuto. We have to build your history and background. The rest…I'm not sure…"

"We'll wait for instructions," Ducky said with a small smile. "Won't we, Timothy?"

"Right, Ducky," Tim responded automatically, wondering what Fornell meant.

~*~

Martin watched Tom as he hung up the phone. "Fill me in, old friend."

"Mike's pulled himself off the case, taking a few days of leave. Says the team doubts him now with his actions towards Gibbs." Morrow regretted the way things were turning out, but was glad that Mike had made the decision.

"And you? What do you think?" Martin had concerns about Franks' involvement from the beginning, but this was a new development. "Do you think this puts us at risk?"

"I think this is how it was going to have to turn out anyhow; with Mike's beating of your agent, and Abby's response to Gibbs." Sighing, he accepted the inevitable. "Seems like the rest of the team questioned Mike's ability to be objective as well."

"Your Abigail raises great loyalty in everyone. She is a powerful catalyst. I've never seen anything like it before, Tom. Never." It boded well.

"No, there's never been someone quite like Abby before, at least none that I've worked with. And she's a smart girl. She won't put herself into a situation that'll put herself or Gibbs or any of the others in overt danger. At least, no more than she has to. And I trust your man to do the same."

"He's my best, Tom. I don't say that lightly, my friend."

"I know you don't. And despite Abby's feelings or the strength of our combined forces, I wouldn't be putting her in the situation if you had any doubts."

"Wouldn't expect you to I wouldn't put your agents on the line any more than I'd put my own if I didn't have faith. I trust you…and you can trust me, Tom. As a friend and as a director of a federal agency."

"Of course I trust you, Marty. I always have."

He nodded, squeezing his friend's shoulder as they waited for the next wave of people to arrive.

~*~

"Directors need us upstairs, Ziva." Tony looked over at Gibbs. "Relax. Gonna be a long night."

"I'll try," Jet remarked, smiling slightly. Whatever had happened centered DiNozzo. "Good luck up there. My director sometimes eats agents for breakfast."

"Good thing we're past dinner," Tony shot back.

Rolling her eyes at the men's banter, Ziva was glad to see the relationship between them had evened out. "What about McGee, Tony? Do we need to get him too?"

"Yeah, we'll pick him up at the squad room." Tony inclined his head to Gibbs slightly. "In the immortal words of Ahhhhnold, the governator, I'll be back."

Jet smirked, nodding.

Rolling her eyes, Ziva nodded a goodbye to Jet and followed Tony out of the lab.

They were quiet until they got onto the squad room floor and stepped out. "Abbs? What's going on? You okay? Was the debriefing that bad?" Tony met McGee's eyes. "Tim, the directors are ready for us…"

Nodding, Tim waited for Abby to explain what had happened, knowing that they needed to know.

Sniffing, Abby wiped at her eyes as she turned towards Tony and Ziva. "Mike left. He took himself off the team for this, for the op. Said that we don't trust him, that we're out to get him. Said we were judging him and he wasn't going to stand for it. So he put his badge and gun there and left."

"Mike…" Tony didn't know what else to say. He focused instead on the badge and gun, swallowing hard. "Abby, I'll talk with the director about it. We'll make sure that everything is organized and that you and Brooks stay safe." He pulled her into a tight hug. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'm going to be fine, Tony. I've got you and Tim and Ziva and Ducky and the directors behind us. Jet and I will be fine, perfectly safe. Well, as perfectly safe in an undercover op as we can be." Stepping away from him, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Now the directors need to see you. The sooner you get up there, the sooner this day can be put behind us."

He kissed the top of her head, giving her another tight hug. "Love you, Abbs. You're incredible, remember that."

"I will. Love you too, Tony. Lots. Almost as much as Bert," she teased, knowing he knew she loved him more than the hippo.

Tony angled his head to Ducky. "Keep an eye on her," he said in an undertone, nodding when Ducky acknowledged him with a small smile. "Ziva. McGee? You guys ready?"

"On your six, Tony," Tim replied, using a phrase Tony often did with Mike. He hoped that Tony would know that both he and Ziva would be behind him as the team leader now. Nodding, Ziva started moving, stopping to squeeze Abby's arm in support.

Tony half turned, giving Tim a nod and a nod of acknowledgment. "Thanks, McGee. Ducky, assist in whatever they need, even if it is gofer stuff, okay? We all need to work together here."

Giving Tony a little saucy salute, she watched them head up the stairs towards the director's office, Tim and Ziva flanking Tony. Once they were out of sight, she turned to Fornell who was watching the whole exchange with an amused smile on his face. "Ready to get started, Special Agent Fornell?"

Laughing at her vibrant behavior, he replied, "Have a seat, Ms. Sciuto. Let's build the history of Mrs. Jet Brooks. How does being a digital artist sound? I remember seeing those pictures you created down in your lab. We could set up a gallery, records of sales, the works."

"Ooo…I like it. Kinda of a macabre Andy Warhol." Taking a seat, she started to get into the flow of his creation.

Ducky squeezed Abby's shoulder. "That sounds lovely, doesn't it, Abigail? Would you like to call your new friend in to consult? As you will be his…spouse? Estranged spouse?"

"Estranged spouse, Duckman. But if we want Jet here, I need to go down and get him. I turned the speaker phone off when I left."

"What do you think, my dear?" Ducky believed that the sooner they integrated the other man, the better for all involved, but Abby and Fornell knew his needs best of all. Much as it pained Ducky to realize it, Abigail had a growing bond with the FBI agent.

"Let the girl go get him, Doctor. We don't seem to have another option, do we Ms. Sciuto?" Fornell asked knowingly. "The sooner we get this set up, the sooner we can put this to bed and get the op running.

"I'll be right back," she squeaked, making off for the elevator.

"She's a transparent one, isn't she, Doctor Mallard?"

"Indeed she is," Ducky remarked, sighing slightly. "I worry for her, Agent Fornell. She isn't as hardened as the other agents, most especially not your man, Brooks, is it?" Ducky asked. He found it worked much better if he feigned ignorance and gained people's trust that way. A dotty doctor tended to get better results than a special agent any day of the week.

"No, she's not. But I think, in this situation, it will work out better for her. As your own, Officer David, proved when your team put her out in the field. As beautiful as she may be, there is a clear edge to Ziva that doesn't exist in Abby." In his previous dealings, Fornell had come to respect the NCIS medical examiner, though he never took the man's observations lightly. Doctor Mallard was an astute judge of character.

"Tell me about this Brooks character," Ducky pressed. "Is he a FBI informant? How did this criminal come into your care?" He knew he could probably get away with being uninformed for a time longer and he intended to press it to any and all advantages.

"'Brooks character,' Ducky? " Eyeing the doctor, Fornell considered what he should and wanted to tell him. Granted, everyone involved so far knew the truth about Jet's identity. However, Fornell liked to play his cards close to the chest, charming Scottish doctor or no.

"Yes, Special Agent Fornell. Brooks character." Ducky flashed the other man an innocent smile.

"You really need to update your jargon. In any case, Brooks is actually one of mine. He's working as an undercover agent. Our operation ran into the op Franks was running tonight. Now it seems we're going to be combining our investigations, and your Abigail will be going undercover with Jet."

"One of yours? An agent? How…fascinating. Undercover meets undercover. My…what a tangled web." He continued to play the innocent elder man, hoping to reel Fornell in even more.

"When first we practice to deceive," he echoed, starting to get the feeling he was being plugged for information, even in such a good natured way as the doctor.

"Tell me about this gentleman, then," Ducky said, now genuinely interested in the information. "Has he been an agent very long? I take it he is quite talented? You strike me as a man who does not suffer fools lightly."

"And you, dear Doctor, are no fool." Looking up from the computer, Fornell considered the medical examiner. "Ducky, you know that Franks has stepped aside. He's found himself in a position where he can't let go of his prejudice against my agent. DiNozzo's going to be taking over, I believe."

"What is the situation with Agent Franks, have you any idea? Why did he strike out at your man?" Ducky wanted to ask Fornell frankly if he thought he could work under or alongside Tony, but he wouldn't push that hard yet.

"I can't tell you for sure, Dr. Mallard, since I wasn't there. But I do know he used the need to protect Ms. Sciuto to do it. As for the real reason, if there is a different one, you will have to talk to the people more involved. My number one priority is to see to my agent's safety. And now your forensic scientist." In truth, Fornell really didn't feel comfortable in sharing more than was necessary. He trusted the doctor, but the fewer people who knew the details the better.

"I was there in the aftermath," Ducky admitted. "And I have never seen him like that. It was as if he was completely out of control, Fornell. Very disturbing. I've worked with Mike for a great deal of time and I've never seen him like this." Ducky sighed, momentarily at a loss for words, feeling as if he might be being disloyal to Mike.

Understanding the doctor's upset, Fornell was strangely compelled to almost comfort the man. "I think this whole situation got everyone's panties in a bind, Doctor Mallard. With our two ops crashing into each other and with the obvious chemistry between Jet and Abby, emotions and tempers are running high. But we've gotta pull together now, be professional and all that."

"Yes, of course. I'll not be any trouble and I'm here to assist in any way I can. I don't get involved in all of these agency stresses. Gets in the way of the job," Ducky said with a heavy sigh. "As long as Abby is well looked after, my work here is done. She's very special to us, Fornell. Make sure your agent is aware."

"From his reactions so far, I think he already knows that. But I'll keep an eye out for her as well, Doctor. She'll be safe. In fact, when your computer geek whiz comes down here, we're going to make sure her identity sticks, that there won't be anything to pull attention away from Mrs. Abby Brooks back towards Abby Sciuto."

"That is the bottom line, Fornell. I cannot believe they sent her undercover. She isn't someone who is a…" Ducky trailed off, searching for words in a rare moment. "She isn't a natural agent, Fornell. She's not like them at all. I worry about her…"

"You mean to say she is not someone who easily, or comfortably, deceives people?" Fornell thought it was sweet, the way the older man was acting so protective over the younger woman. Sciuto seemed to have a strong hold over the people she worked with.

"She isn't someone who can lie convincingly," Ducky agreed, speaking in a firm voice. "And she doesn't like the field work. She's most at home with "Major Mass Spectrometer" as she calls it. At heart she's a scientist, not an agent, so I'm quite upset that Mike sent her undercover. And if she goes under again, I will be quite upset again. And again. That girl means something to me, Special Agent Fornell."

"I can see that you are, Doctor. But she worked well enough undercover that she convinced my seasoned agent, who isn't easily duped. With the whole of the FBI and NCIS behind her, your Ms. Sciuto will do well."

"Whether she's good or not, that doesn't matter," Ducky said in that same firm voice. "She is uncomfortable in that venue and I, for one, worry about her. Promise me, Fornell, that she will be taken care of. As if she was your own." Ducky lowered his voice at the end, knowing he sounded quite firm and angry.

With his hands on his desk, Fornell pushed himself to a standing position. Leaning towards the doctor, he looked him in the eye, knowing how important the girl was to him. "Doctor Mallard, I swear she will be as safe as if she was standing in her black platform shoes in her forensics lab. There will be an undercover protection detail, two of your own. We will have GPS, bugs, every other kind of tracking we can install. Abby will be safe, Doctor. As safe as I can possibly make her."

"And if one black hair is harmed on her head, Agent Fornell, you will answer to the director, but also to me. And I am not the lightweight you may think I am." Ducky stared down the younger man, giving him every indication that he was not a man to be trifled with. Fornell had no idea how dangerous mild-mannered Doctor Mallard could be.

Fornell had to stifle the snort that threatened to escape at the medical examiner's warning. He knew that the doctor would be true to his word. But no one had ever seen the doctor taken such a defensive position. "I understand, Doctor. She will be fine, I swear."

"Don't underestimate me," Ducky said in a low voice. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Fornell. You would be wise to consider that."

"I would never underestimate you, Doctor Mallard." Starting to get annoyed at the other man's behavior, Fornell looked him in the eye. "However, Doctor, it would be wise of you to not threaten a federal office, regardless of how long you have been with NCIS."

Ducky gave the man an innocent look. "Oh, dear man, I was not threatening you. Would never threaten you." Unless the agents were harmed, Ducky added silently.

"Right," Fornell said sarcastically, dragging out the single word.

Ducky rolled his eyes, folding his arms. "Do tell me about this computer magic you're creating."

"It's not so much computer magic, Doctor Mallard, as it is working contacts, setting up a document trail, creating a history where none existed before."

Ducky nodded, settling in and waiting to see how things progressed.

~*~

Tony knocked once on the conference room door before he entered, giving the men inside a few seconds in case they needed to finish up any conversations. When he opened the door and walked in, he tried to convey an air of authority. "Directors…"

Following along behind DiNozzo were the other two agents on the case that evening; McGee and Ziva. "Come in and sit down you three. You know FBI Director Fletcher," Morrow stated, gesturing to his friend.

Tony took the lead, extending his hand. "Director Fletcher, good to meet you. I'm Anthony DiNozzo." He shook the man's hand very firmly. "And these are two of my teammates. Officer Ziva David is our Mossad liaison. She has been with NCIS for four years now. And my…" Tony hesitated only a second. "Agent, Timothy McGee. We're prepared to answer any questions you have and are ready and able to cooperate with the FBI."

Tim gave Morrow a short nod as well. "Director, Sir. Which one of us would you like to start with?"

Martin looked over at Tom, a small smile on his face. This DiNozzo was something else. He liked the idea that the younger man was taking firm control of the team. This boded well. He wanted the man in the field, with Jet and Abby. He had a good feeling about this.

Morrow liked how Tony entered the room and took charge. Losing Mike on this op might night be the detriment to the team as he thought it would be. Watching the three taking up positions at the table, Tony taking the head of the group, Morrow considered which one to start with.

"Let's start with you, Agent DiNozzo. Why don't you begin by giving us a debriefing of the evening's events?"

Tony nodded, waiting until Ziva and McGee were seated to begin speaking. He stood behind them, establishing clear leadership. "McGee and I were on inside protection detail at the event. Abby was to pose as his date and drift away, luring the drug dealer to her. She broke away as we planned, and Tim and I began sweeping the perimeter. As we met in the middle a group of people crossed in front of us and both of us lost sight of her for approximately two minutes. When we tracked her again, she was disappearing down a hallway."

Tony cleared his throat and swallowed. "Agent McGee and I crossed the room as unobtrusively as possible and cleared side rooms until we found them. Abby was standing over the man and he was unconscious at her feet. She seemed emotionally shaken up but physically uninjured. Agent McGee and I did a cursory search and restrained the man we thought was a suspect. Abby fled, he regained consciousness, there were words spoken…"

Tony paused, wondering how to spin the next part. "McGee and I got hotheaded, but we sparred verbally with him. We brought him out to the van and McGee got in back, while I briefed Mike."

He looked at both directors and waited for additional instructions, hands lightly resting on Ziva's and McGee's shoulders.

Taking up from Tony's cue, Tim added his version. "When we entered the party, I let myself get taken away with the crowd after a decent amount of time had gone by. I moved to a position that would allow me to keep Abby in my sights. I saw a man, who we later determined was as an agent undercover with the FBI, approach Abby and give her a drink. At this point, the crowd surged again, I lost contact with Abby, and when the way cleared she was gone. As Agent DiNozzo already mentioned, we saw the two of them disappearing down what appeared to be a hallway."

Looking up at Tony standing over him, and then over to Ziva, he took strength from being united with his teammates. "When we cleared the alcove where we found Abby and the perpetrator, Abby decided to go back to the van outside while we took care of closing up the op. We thought we had attained our man by his approach and interaction with Abby. As we continued our investigation, we were obviously proven wrong."

Shaking off that mistake, he went on. "I covered the man in the back of the van along with Officer David. And in the course of our apprehending him, I lost my professionalism with the suspect."

Giving Tim a look of encouragement, Ziva took up the retelling from there. "From the men's descriptions and Abby's reactions, I do not believe Tony and McGee acted out too beyond the scope of our investigation. Abby seemed to be in shock, disturbed somehow by the man's presence. In their reactions, I drew the conclusion that they were upset at his possibly hurting someone very close to us all."

Putting her hand on Tim's knee, she squeezed lightly, trying to convey some peace to her friend. "The suspect was left in handcuffs and deposited on the floor of the van. I observed everyone's behavior, finding it particularly interesting that Abby seemed almost fascinated by him after being so shaken up by her encounter. In my own short dealings with him, he did not seem to behave as one might expect. Brooks was calm, cool, and quite arrogant towards the men, at the same time protective over Abby."

Coming to the part she hoped would not embarrass the two men anymore than necessary, she continued. "When I was instructed to take the suspect to interrogation, he confided in me the location of another weapon, a knife hidden near his groin. When they had searched him earlier, Brooks had been unconscious and not easy to search. But he turned it over to me without hesitation as he seemed to trust me." Warrior to warrior. "In fact, to show his trust of the entire agency, he told me and then demonstrated his ability to get out of the cuffs. He had allowed himself to be taken into custody after being hit with a stun gun. And now it seems, he did that to ensure his cover."

Not knowing how much Tim or Tony knew of the occurrence in interrogation, Ziva took a final deep breath in order to finish. "Abby came in to print the suspect. And on her request, I allowed them to be alone. I was standing right outside the door. Honestly, I trusted him. He could have kept the knife and the information about his escape ability to himself. But as an act of good faith, he left himself vulnerable. And as his intentions towards Abby no longer seemed hostile to anyone, but Franks, I allowed it. A few minutes later, Franks came down the hall. I believe to investigate. Hearing that I allowed Abby to be alone with the suspect infuriated Franks. He burst into the room and began to punch the man we had in custody. I followed as quickly as I could and perceived no threat. Abby was putting her equipment away and Brooks was still cuffed."

Ending her long-winded speech, Ziva sat back in her chair and waited.

Martin listened quietly, making notes on his PDA when necessary. "Has Gibbs been seen to by your doctor, Tom? He took a shot from a stun gun and multiple blows from your agent." He looked at the two men, knowing that something had happened when the men said that they were hotheaded.

"Did any of you lay a hand on my man? I expect complete truth, gentlemen," Martin spoke in a low but firm voice, meeting the eyes of each of the agents.

"Directly, no," Tony said a little uncomfortably before he regained focus. "I may have smacked his head against the wall accidentally as we walked out of the room. Complete accident. Three men essentially abreast, small doorway."

"Mmmm hmmm," Martin said, arching an eyebrow to Tom.

"And I…when we had him in custody, I had my weapon trained on his gut when he made insinuations against Abby, implying the things he did and wanted to do to her. I took offense at his behavior towards her, Directors. I didn't hurt him, but…"

"But you believe you behaved out of the constricts of your normal duties, Agent McGee, though your overall intent was the protection of Ms. Sciuto. Is that correct, Tim?" Seeing the nervous nod, Tom had to just shake his head. "It appears our little Abigail has all the men twisted in a bind, trying to protect her. And you, Ziva? Were you able to keep your head cool while these two's heads were too hot for themselves to handle?"

"Though I do not know how the temper of my head had anything to do with my performance in my duties this evening, I will say that the tension between the men was almost palatable. You could cut it with a spoon."

Martin managed a small smile. "Special Agent Gibbs hasn't said anything about any of your behavior. You gentlemen should consider speaking with him, as professionals." He looked over at Tom, waiting for him to add anything.

"Yes, sir," Tony said, shifting to stand slightly behind Tim now, offering complete support to him. "Agent McGee and I will cooperate, Directors."

"I will, Director. We will. I do regret my behavior, Directors. Beyond it as a personal reflection of myself, but as it stands as a reflection on NCIS." Standing up, Tim put himself at Tony's side, as Ziva did the same. A united front, a new team dynamic.

Tony felt empowered as McGee and Ziva stood at his sides. He turned to their director first and then the FBI agent. "Can you fill us in on the plans, sirs?"

Putting down his pad of paper, Morrow considered the agents in front of him. A cop, an assassin, and a computer whiz. Interesting mix, he thought. But a combination that would most likely work to make this op successful.

"Until further notice and review, Agent Franks will be stepping aside. And until then, the op is yours, Special Agent DiNozzo, along with Agent Fornell. Currently, Fornell is compiling a background for Abby. She will be joining Agent Gibbs as his estranged wife. McGee, Fornell will need your assistance in guaranteeing an impenetrable history and identity. DiNozzo, I'm giving you the lead on this. Don't screw it up. Martin, do you have anything you want to add? They'll need to know the details of your operation."

"My men and women will work side by side with yours," he said firmly. "Any of you can come to me or Director Morrow if you need anything that all."

"No plans to screw it up, sir," Tony said firmly. "And thank you, Director Fletcher."

""Work up identities for yourself and McGee, DiNozzo. You're going under as well. Fornell and Abby will update you. Good luck, men," Martin said softly.

"Go back to Fornell. He's working on linking your new identities with Abby and Jet's. Give him any assistance he'll need. Make this work, gentlemen. And Ziva, you will be the liaison between NCIS and the FBI while DiNozzo is undercover. Make sure you can work with Agent Fornell. You'll be our people's link to the outside, to home. You're dismissed."

Tony arched a brow. He and McGee were going under as well? "Undercover, sir? All right," Tony sad slowly. "We'll all work alongside Agent Fornell and the other agents, sir. Right McGee? Right, Ziva?"

Nodding in agreement, Ziva remained silent as she considered what all the evening's events had been leading up to.

"Yeah, I guess so," Tim said hesitantly. He'd never gone undercover before. Could he handle this kind of responsibility? Of course he could; he was a federal agent. "Any ideas, Directors, on what our responsibilities will be? What our cover will be?"

"Your main responsibility will be to protect Abby and Jet, to run whatever research needs to be done, to do what you two do best: investigate the crap out of everyone and every situation those two will come across. This op could be months long, gentlemen. So make whatever arrangements you'll need to make tonight. I don't want you two coming home to dead house plants. As for your identities, you will be working with Agent Fornell on those, as he works to integrate our agents with his."

"Security detail?" Tony added, nodding. They could do this. "Clothes?" he asked. That was his only concern. He had a small suitcase in his car, but he didn't have any high end stuff beside the tux that needed to be dry cleaned. His paycheck was direct deposit, all his bills with automatically taken from his bank account and he had no pets or plants that would miss him.

Months. Months with Abbs who wasn't really gonna be Abbs, the mysterious agent…and McGee. Tony didn't want to examine why the latter part made him smile the most.

"Basically, Agent DiNozzo. I want to make sure my best agents are in there with them, making sure that Abby isn't getting in over her head. The instant your gut tells you that something is going bad, you call me and we'll pull out. I won't be risking your lives for some criminals, no matter how high up they may get." Looking over to Martin, Morrow continued with the details they had worked out so far.

"Your wardrobes will be waiting for you at the hotel gentlemen, befitting your new identities, as will Abby's. Are there any questions?"

Tim wanted almost desperately to ask if he could bring his old typewriter with him. But he knew that asking a question like that would get his ass reamed. There had been enough of that so far.

"We'll do that, Director. Thank you for your faith in us." Tony had worked protection details before, but never for someone he cared for like this. Given how much Morrow cared about Abby, Tony knew this was a huge honor.

He glanced over at McGee, noting his discomfort. "McGee needs his typewriter and a couple of reams of paper. That doable? He has writing deadlines that I'm sure he can't move. When you've worked out a secure line of communication, he can utilize that to send information to his publisher and agent."

Martin arched an eyebrow. He'd heard McGee was an author but hadn't expected this request. He glanced at Tom, watching the other man for his reaction.

Before Morrow could speak, Tim jumped into the conversation. "It's not deadlines or anything like that," he started, shooting Tony a small smile for standing up for him. "It's really more like I have to write. I have to get it all down, get it all out. But I wouldn't want to compromise the operation or anything. 'Cause who knows what kind of manpower they have behind both crime rings we're going after."

Tim's mind was going round and round, arguing each side while the others looked on. "I could set up a completely secure computer, one without internet access, and have it with me at all times. That way, no one would have access to my printer ribbons, or access into the computer itself. Of course I use a pen name. But that's easily traceable back to me. And then the ops would be ruined and exposed. Which would put Abby—and Jet of course—at risk…"

Tony stood shoulder to shoulder with McGee, meeting each of the other men's eyes. "He needs an outlet to effectively do his job, especially if we're talking months. This isn't negotiable from my perspective. Can you make it happen, Director?" he addressed the question to Morrow.

"Do what you need to do, Tim. Just make sure you don't compromise your undercover identities, especially with any link back to you or Abby. Remember, Tim. It is Abby's life on the line. I trust you to make the best call."

Tim looked at the director, shocked. "Th..thank you, Director."

"Thank you, sir," Tony added, giving Tim's arm a squeeze. "When you deliver the clothes, sir, please arrange a laptop for each of us. Tim will take what disks and installation stuff he needs before we leave here."

Martin was impressed with the teamwork and the interaction between the men. He gave Tom a look and a small smile and a nod. This could work out well for Jet. He'd have a good team behind him.

Standing up, Morrow walked to the other side of the conference table. Holding out his hand, he shook the hands of each of his three agents. "I'm going to be relying on you three to make this operation a success and to bring our girl home safely. You have my full trust and support. Whatever you need, you make this work," he finished, stopping in front of DiNozzo.

Tony met the NCIS director's eyes, nodding. "You have our complete cooperation, sirs. This team is committed to keeping both agents safe and their covers intact. You can rely on us, sirs." He took a breath, knowing they were being dismissed at any moment.

"Thank you for your confidence in me, sir," he added in an undertone. "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't, DiNozzo. If I had any doubts as to your ability to lead this team, I would allow Agent Fornell to head up this op. Do your job, Tony. That's all you can do, and that's all I will ask you to do. Do your job and make sure you bring our girl home safe."

Walking back to his chair next to the Director of the FBI, Morrow turned back to his agents, saying, "You're dismissed."

Tony nodded, shaking the directors' hands. "We'll call you when the identities are set, sir." With that, he led Ziva and McGee out.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Bounding out of the elevator, Abby could hardly contain herself, her excitement rising at seeing him again. With a rough and ragged beat, her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest, and she knew she had to tone down her excitement for Jet's state of mind. Walking into her lab quietly, she looked around, wondering if he had gotten bored and was wandering around, or if he was still in her relaxation area. The latter could create an interesting distraction, though she had a task to perform.

Gibbs had returned to her little nest and was sitting, aching head resting on knees, trying to decompress, when he heard a noise and looked up. His chest clenched a little when he saw her, a small smile appearing. She already felt like home.

"Hey."

Seeing his face, his smile, even just hearing his voice, caused all, well most, of her stress to fall away. Her shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile spread across her face. How could she have missed him so much when she hadn't been gone that long…and really, they'd only just met?

Sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of him, she echoed his greeting. "Hey." Seeing the dark circles under his eyes, a reflection of the aching and tension from the pain of his injuries, she started to brush her fingers through his hair, trying to ease his pain.

"Mmm, that feels really nice." It did, her hand was very soothing. He leaned into her touch. "What are you doing back here so quickly?" Not that he minded in the least.

When he seemed to relax into her hand, Abby decided to move around behind him. She started to rub lightly across his scalp, neck and shoulders. "Well, after my interview with the directors, they decided I should help work with your Agent Fornell in establishing my new identity and past. Seems like I'm going to be an artist, creating works kind of like what you've seen in the lab; digital creations based on autopsy photos, evidence, that kind of stuff. Anyhow, he and Ducky—or wait, it could have just been Ducky— anyhow, they thought it would be a good idea to have you involved in the creation of my cover since our pasts have to link up now. But only if you're ready for it. If not, it can wait a few minutes for you to keep meditating and getting your mind back together."

"Marines don't meditate," he teased then winced, realizing he revealed something that she likely didn't know yet. "I'm a Marine, served fifteen years…" He trailed off then tilted his head to look at her, twisting around, his back cracking loudly.

"You okay with how different we are? Marine and…not."

"Well, I call it meditating," she teased. "A Marine, huh? Love a man in uniform." For a few minutes she was quiet, her hands moving over his stiff shoulders trying to work out his tension. Reaching up, she brushed her hand through his silver hair before moving back in front of him.

Considering how to answer his question, she smiled into his eyes, the confidence in response shining from her eyes. "I love how different we are. Gives me a lot to explore, new things to figure out. I'm a scientist after all, Jet. You present a fathomless new discovery, something new to learn about. And if my initial estimation is correct, there are many levels to you, Fox. And I can't wait to explore."

He lifted a shoulder and nodded. "Not as much as I want to be, any more. Can't be a reservist with this stuff happening, all these undercover assignments." He gave her a small smirk. "A lot older than you. I bet I'm old enough to be your much older brother, if not your father. And I think we probably have very different outlooks, Inky."

"From every Marine I have ever met or worked with, you're a grunt until you die. And even then, God makes considerations." Pulling her hand back, she rested her head into her hands, her elbows on her knees. "Are _you_ okay with how different we are?" She was fine with it, more than excited at their differences. But he seemed to be the one who was pushing their differences like it was something to be concerned over.

"You associate with many of us?" he asked with a gentle smile. He shrugged, one shoulder hitching up yet again. "I like a challenge. Our differences are challenges for me. Just wondering about you and you being happy with me.

"Only when they come down here as part of an investigation. Besides, I work on the Naval Yard. I tend to see a few men in uniform." Watching him, she was starting to realize just how much she adored his crooked smile when he was shy, the shoulder hitch when he wasn't sure. "You wondering what about me? That I won't be happy with you? I will be. Just as long as you keep looking at me like you were before, like you were going to gobble me up, or like right now, like you could just sit and talk with me for hours."

"Not wondering anything specific," he said. He was trying to clear his mind, even though those thoughts were there just beyond reach all the time. When she talked about the way he'd looked at her before, he stood "Jet Brooks" persona returning in a split second, his breathing a little more measured, posture a little more haughty.

"How was I looking at you?" he asked, pronouncing each word deliberately in the slightly more cultured accent that he'd adopted as his own. He stared at her hungrily, with an intensity he barely kept leashed.

As he stood up, she was amazed at the transformation. Gone was the gentle man who had been talking with her, concerned with her well-being at the forefront of his mind. Instead, the arrogant man from earlier, the one used to getting what he wanted, stared at her from those piercing blue eyes.

Holding up her hands so that he could pull her up to standing with him, she murmured, "Like that."

"Like I want to devour you," he said in a low voice, confidence in his every move. He gave her a challenging look and small smirk, pulling her to her feet and against him. "I do. I want to consume you. I will consume you."

A small gasp burst out of her lungs as her body slammed into his. "Yeah, just like that." Shaking her head of the lust-filled cobwebs that threatened to distract and overtake her life, she bit out, "But not yet. We've gotta get upstairs. Gotta create my identity…" She trailed off as her gaze locked on his lips.

"How the hell are we going to be estranged spouses when all I want to do is wrap you in my arms?" he asked, frustrated. "We'll have to stay in, a lot. Hope we don't have a security detail or they might see a lot more than they expected."

Moving her hands, which were still linked with his, behind her back, she shifted closer to him, smiling. "I think we'll manage just fine. After all, we're supposed to be ex-estranged spouses who have rekindled our marriage. It would only fit that you'd want to wrap your arms around me," she teased.

He pulled her hard against him. "We have to go upstairs, huh," he said, looking into her eyes, holding her tightly. "How can I concentrate when I want to take you hard?"

"Yeah, upstairs," she murmured, her body now on fire as her eyes locked on his. "How can you…um…I don't know, Jet." Abby winced, realizing how dumb she sounded. Shaking her head in a vain attempt to clear her mind of its lust filled haze, she tried again. "How about, the sooner we get my identity linked solidly with yours, the sooner you can take me, as hard as you'd like."

"Gonna look forward to that, Abby," he told her, signing words rapidly. Need. Desire. Want. Fate. He stopped his hands and then signed every letter of "fate" and then "meant to be", while staring into her eyes. He wanted to say more but he didn't dare, not yet. The depth of his emotion shocked him and he wasn't that kind of guy. He didn't just fall in love easily. Or like, lust, attraction, whatever the hell this was.

Abby grabbed hold of his hands, bringing them up to her lips. Kissing along the roughed skin, she murmured those words in repetition. "Need. Desire. Want. Fate." But as she closed her eyes, she whispered her own last word. "Destiny." Of the two of them, Abby knew she was the one most open to the idea of fate and destiny. She'd never experienced something like what she and Jet shared, but she'd always believed that the possibility existed. Now if they could only get through these next few months alive.

"Destiny?" he asked, not at all convinced. "I don't know what the hell you're doing to me. For me. With me." He leaned in, nuzzling her. "But we have to get our minds back on the job."

"Destiny. Fate. You and me. Doesn't make sense logically. But I feel complete with you, and when you're gone…it almost hurts." Her eyes closed slowly as his lips moved over her. "Minds. Job. Right."

He agreed but he didn't know how to verbalize that, so he could only nod. "Sooner we see them, sooner we're alone together," he reminded.

"Than let's get up there, Jet. Because I have a feeling it will be awhile until were alone," she responded.

He gave her another tight hug. "And until then, know what I need is you."

She buried her head into his neck, wondering how she had managed to get through life without him in it. "Until soon," she corrected, not knowing how long she could last without holding or touching him.

"Until soon," he repeated, kissing the top of her head.

~*~

Tony took a deep breath as they exited the conference room and the directors and glanced over at McGee and Ziva. "Ziva, will you be okay with working under Fornell while Tim and I are undercover?" It hit Tony suddenly that he'd be without his movies for a long time and he stifled a sigh.

"Tim, can you set up a dummy Netflix account under my alias? I can watch their stuff on demand." Tony needed his movies to focus as much as McGee needed his writing.

"Yeah, Tony. As soon as we have our identities starting to solidify, I'll add the Netflix as part of your credit history." The wheels were already turning in his head, setting up the necessary avenues. He needed to make sure that everything was covered, for Abby, for Tony, for him, even for Jet, because he was the key to Abby's protection.

Ziva stopped and turned to the two men with her. Putting a hand on each of their shoulders, she alternated looking at both of them. "I will work with whomever I need to, to make sure you are all safe. Do not worry, gentlemen. I will make sure that everything is prepared, everything is without defect."

"Thanks, Tim. And a laptop too," Tony reminded. He rubbed a hand over Ziva's arm. "Thanks, Ziva." Tony hadn't expected to be undercover, but he had faith in the team.

"A laptop for all three of us, I believe. I don't know how Jet is set up." Tim began, "but we'll all need to have them in one capacity or another."

Tony nodded to McGee and then regarded Ziva with a small smile. "McGee, start getting things organized. Ziva…want to talk with you for a couple of minutes."

Tim nodded and gave Ziva a quick hug before heading off to the squad room to find Fornell. Ziva turned to Tony and waited, knowing he would have to begin at his own pace, to find his own stride again as the team leader.

Tony leaned back against the wall, adopting a comfortably casual pose, even though he kept his gaze on Ziva. "Working with Fornell is going to be a challenge, Ziva? He can be difficult and I need you to play nice, especially with Tim and me in the field. You're gonna be outnumbered though. Two Feebs …"

"When have I ever not played nice, Tony?" Seeing the unconvinced look on Tony's face, Ziva changed her tone. "Okay, maybe once or twice. But I would never put your lives in jeopardy. I will hardly be outnumbered, Tony. I am perfectly capable at handling myself with all the feds."

Ziva hadn't met the guy with Sacks yet. Tony wondered if she knew him. "There's Fornell and Sacks and some guy named Sebastian Blumenthal from Interpol. Sound like anyone you ever ran into?"

Moving over to the wall, she leaned against it, mimicking Tony's pose. "Blumenthal? I worked a few ops with a Blumenthal before, from Scotland Yard. I wonder if it's the same man." Ziva had participated in a few risky situations alongside a man who set her on edge. There had never been an opportune time for her to discover if the edge was a good or bad thing between them.

"British guy. Kinda looks like Hugh Jackman?" Realizing Ziva was kind of clueless about pop culture, Tony knew that wouldn't work. "Wavy brown hair, about my height and build, green eyes, okay looking…" Actually, the guy was damned good looking, but Tony wasn't about to admit that. Not to Ziva, anyway. "He's working with the Feebs and us now. Can you work that angle if you know him?"

Tony's description aptly fit the man she knew, but until she knew for sure, she wasn't about to divulge the details from her past. "If it is him, I will, Tony. I cannot guarantee the connection, as my work with Interpol was extensive. But if it is the man I knew, I am sure that his cooperation will only enhance our coverage."

"He and Slacks disappeared," Tony said quietly. "Last I saw them was outside Interrogation. Maybe they're still lurking around." And if they were, they'd been unescorted for a while now. Tony flushed darkly. "Have a look around, see if they're here anywhere. We got wrapped up in who Brooks was and didn't keep an eye on them."

"And if they are not? Should I search them out farther than the building?" Looking over at Tony, she nodded. "I will find them."

"Don't trust Fornell. Call in favors, Ziva." It was Abby and for Abby they'd do everything they could.

Ziva nodded in understanding, both at his spoken words and the meaning beneath. "I will, Tony. I will update you as soon as I know anything."

"Thanks, Ziva," Tony said quietly, warmly.

~*~

Martin looked over at Tom and nodded briefly, considering the options of him staying versus him leaving "I can stay or go, but by leaving, it'll give you some time with that young assistant of yours, who has no doubt returned by now."

Shaking his head, Morrow started laughing under his breath. "If you can stand to leave the op in our hands, leave by all means. But do try to not put too many ideas in my head."

"Tobias will keep me informed," Martin said, motioning to his ever present cell phone. "Take a moment, Tom. You brighten up when she walks in the room."

"I'll think about it, Marty. When this op gets on its feet, I'll make sure we schedule regular conferences if it indeed goes as long as we think it might." Morrow stood up in order to escort his friend out, ignoring the suggestive comment.

"Get some rest," Martin said quietly. "I can find my way out, old friend." He knew very well that Tom would probably be up setting the operation into motion for much of the night. "I need to check in with Tobias and then I'll have him and you brief me later. They'll do fine, Tom. I trust my people and you trust yours."

"Rest will come when our people are home again." Tom held out his hand for his friend to shake.

Instead, Martin squeezed Tom's shoulder. "Life is too short for regrets, remember that, my friend."

Tom nodded as Martin left the conference room.

~*~

Ducky looked over as Tim reentered the area just as Abby and Brooks came off the elevator. The other operative's face was a blooming constellation of bruises and broken capillaries, but he seemed alert and very aware as he approached.

Ducky nodded to him, turning his attention to Abby and McGee. "Ah, the computer geniuses are here." He had no idea what Special Agent Fornell was doing, but he was eagerly typing away at one of the computer systems, tweaking this or that and muttering something under his breath every so often.

Ducky knew that building a multi-layered identity took time, time that they might not have. Seeing that everything appeared to be under control, he slipped out, sending a silent good luck to Abigail. Before leaving the Yard, he'd leave Abby a note in her lab.

Gibbs drifted over to Toby, nudging him with an arm. "We okay to proceed?" What he was really asking was how Toby's gut was saying things were going, if Gibbs had to worry about more than the task at hand.

"Everything seems to be clear. Since the agents took you out the way they did, your cover appears to be holding." Fornell paused as he saw Abby going over to the desk he was working on, presumably to find out what was going on with the op. It was her life being altered after all.

"They were subtle, Toby. Nobody saw us. Trust me, I was looking." He was getting ready to say more, to warn Toby that she needed to be protected at all costs, when someone tentatively called his name. He turned, noting the young man, the baby faced agent. This should be interesting.

"Special Agent Gibbs?" Tim asked, hesitantly, as he approached the two agents from behind.

Gibbs arched an eyebrow and nodded. "Yeah, I am. You're…Tim?" He knew he needed to be nice, even if he wasn't feeling like it at the moment.

"Yeah, I am," he began, unconsciously mimicking the other man's words. "I just wanted to…apologize for earlier, for my behavior." Stammering, he tried to right himself, but the embarrassment over his acts was almost overwhelming. "I've…never behaved that way, and I have no excuses. But I wanted to say I was sorry…at least."

Gibbs gestured the man over a few paces away from Tobias and watched the younger man for a few long minutes, letting him really absorb what had happened and stew in his own juices. Then again, he'd pushed the kid long and hard, baiting him much more than he should have. With a brief nod, he extended a hand, waiting to see if the younger man was going to take it.

Reaching out his hand, Tim shook the other agent's with a firm grasp. "Th…thank you, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded. "It's okay. I baited you too." It wasn't quite an apology, but it would have to do for now.

Shrugging, Tim looked down. "Yeah, but I should have known better, reacted better than that. My training should have kicked in, but it didn't."

"Your training did kick in," he insisted quietly, wanting to work with this young agent. "You were thinking of protecting Abby, and I appreciate that, and I know she does as well. You're going to be an asset on this operation." Jet reached over, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Tim just shrugged his shoulder, not entirely convinced. But since he didn't want to seem anymore like a whiny child, he looked up at the FBI agent. "Thanks…Gibbs? I appreciate that. Now let's make sure there's nothing and no one who can crack through Abby's new identity. Any suggestions since it's your op she's being absorbed into?"

"What sort of suggestions?" he asked, watching as the other NCIS agent entered the room and went over to Toby and Abby.

"I don't know. Any areas you'd think would need Abby's background entered into. I only have a vague idea of what's going on with your side of the op, so I'm not sure exactly where I'd need to establish a history for her. Places. Hobbies. Locations. Stuff like that."

Gibbs ran a hand over his jaw, thinking. "You have a wedding date? Wedding announcement. You figure out her college and throw a mention in an alumni newsletter and print it out. Subscriptions to magazines." So many people looked at the big picture and didn't focus on the small details when creating an identity.

"We got married out of the country; it'll make it easier, Mexico, somewhere in the Caribbean maybe. Vacations, Caribbean, maybe Colorado. Hobbies…" Gibbs looked over at Abby. "What does she like? You'd know better than us. Locations. Big cities. Brooks has homes in London and DC, a rental in Manhattan, a place in Newport Beach, California, a penthouse in Chicago, and a small cottage on the beach in Miami. Fornell can give you rental records. She could be from any one of those locations. I'm leaving those details up to you guys. Just…be thorough. I don't want her compromised in any way, put in any danger."

Gibbs knew he was saying too much and trailed off.

"Wedding, right…" Tim's brain started working overtime, absorbing the information Gibbs gave to him and laying out the details he'd need to work out. So, he didn't notice he stopped the conversation, his side of the discussion dying out.

"Fornell," Tony greeted with a nod and small smile. "Ziva is going to be your NCIS person; McGee and I are going undercover." Tony turned his attention to Abby, nodding. "Two more IDs and backgrounds to set up, Abbs."

"Yes, I'm aware of your assignments. The directors had me start on yours as well. You will be Brooks' bodyguard, and the other one," Fornell stated, gesturing to Tim, "will be Abby's assistant. She, other than being Brooks' estranged, recently reconciled, wife, will be an artist, digital art. She'll be gaining some notice in the art world. I can't make her a complete success yet. It would look too suspicious to have her suddenly pop up, with no backing."

"The other one is Special Agent Timothy McGee, Fornell. Not 'the other one'. Digital art…" Tony nodded. It fit Abby. "Will her tattoos be a problem? She has the ones on her fingers and the ones on her back as well." Tony rested a hand on Abby's back, up high by her shoulder blades. "You okay?"

"A little overwhelmed, I have to be honest. But I'm okay. Nothing that a few more Caf-Pows won't fix. You? You get in trouble?" Despite the talks Abby had with different people involved, she still felt a hard twinge of guilt at the fact she put them into the path of trouble. Yes, it had been their responsibility to handle their own reactions, but that didn't stop her own feelings of responsibility.

"No, we're good, Abbs. Going undercover alongside you. Tim and I are fine. Anyway, we made our own beds there, so don't feel guilty." He smoothed a hand over her back. "Talked to your…friend a little."

Nerves were starting to get the better of her, though she had no doubt she'd be safe. After all, having Jet, Tony, and Tim surrounding her, protecting her, how could she feel otherwise? No, it was the responsibility of not blowing the op, of not putting the men's lives in danger, of pulling her weight that she was getting nervous about. _Maybe I should talk to Ziva about it later_…she thought. "You talked with Jet? What'd you talk about?"

"Yeah, I talked a little bit with him." Tony gave her his most winning smile. "Had to let him know that you're my girl and he'd better behave." Tony gave her a wink, knowing they were going to talk later, when things were calmer. At least with the op and going undercover, he and McGee would have a chance to get some alone time to chat with Abbs.

Turning, Abby pinched him on the arm. "You better not have threatened him, Anthony DiNozzo. I don't want him running away scared 'cause the men in my life have possessive issues." Laughing, she knew he wouldn't, that he was only making sure she was safe. But she couldn't help teasing him a bit on his earlier reactions.

"I let him know how much I care," Tony insisted, lowering his voice and guiding her a few more steps away from Brooks. "And if the old man is scared off by that, he isn't good enough for you, Abby."

"He's not old, Tony. He's mature. And I'm kinda liking that." Holding out her hands, she hugged him tightly, understanding the protectiveness, the brotherly nature behind his words. "And thanks, Tony. I love you, too."

Tony shook his head, chuckling. "Be careful, Abbs. You only have one heart and if he breaks it, I have to kill him."

"I'll be careful. But you don't need to worry. I'm going to be fine. I'll be perfectly safe. I have my guard dogs with me. You and Tim won't let me do anything too stupid. I'll be as safe as I can be, heart and body."

Gibbs moved closer to Tobias, seeing that Tim was in his thoughts right now. He arched a brow to Toby. "What do we have here?"

Fornell rolled his eyes at his agent. "Just an almost old and irritated agent, working at adding an estranged wife, a bodyguard and an assistant to Jet Brooks life. You?"

He couldn't match that so he just gave Toby a shrug and goofy grin. "Just be thorough. Keep her safe, Tobias."

"That's the idea, Jethro. I'm going to get this as detailed and thorough as I possibly can, as anyone could. Gonna get their computer genius, McGee, and your girl, Abby, as well, to help out with attacking the deeper aspects of the backgrounds, make sure their histories are impenetrable. And your expertise and experience will help out, of course, if you could take a look."

"You've got me, Toby." He wasn't a computer guy, limiting himself to the skills he absolutely needed in the field. It wasn't something he enjoyed but in this day and age, he needed to work a smart phone, as well having at least a moderate level of computer knowledge.

"I know, Jethro. I just need you to make sure that every detail you'd think of is covered for her, too. Besides, I'm having a little bit of fun setting up the backgrounds of those boys who threatened you. I can't get to Franks. But I can get a some payback by making his minions a little more uncomfortable."

"Have someone else do it as well. I'm exhausted and I don't want to miss anything." He hated admitting that, but knew it had to be obvious, and he didn't want any weakness to compromise Abby. "What devious plan do you have, Toby?"

"Gonna have Special Agents McGee and DiNozzo running it, as well as our guys back at the FBI trying to penetrate their identities. In addition, the directors will be going over the histories as well. All of us are checking. It's gonna be double checked. Triple checked." He understood how much it cost Gibbs to admit the weakness, but he wouldn't be as good an agent if he didn't recognize chinks in his own armor.

"Good. Good work, Toby." Gibbs squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Sorry I dragged you in here." It didn't matter that he technically hadn't. The fact was that Toby was working long, late hours on his op and that was a failure on Gibbs' part.

"Don't apologize. Besides, you didn't drag me anywhere. I'm going to have fun with this. Can't wait to see the guys' reactions." Chuckling, he leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself.

Looking devious, Tobias explained the men's new backgrounds. "Just planning on linking DiNozzo and McGee in a way that will make it really interesting to see how they handle themselves in the op. But it's nothing that will cause exposure or otherwise put you, Abby, or even those two, in any danger." Tobias knew to add that last part, halting any qualms Gibbs would have for his fun. His friend was showing signs of being overprotective of his new female friend, and Tobias didn't want to get the brunt of his agent's anger.

He turned the computer screen to give Gibbs a better view. "Meet AJ Dial and Timothy McCall. Dial is a bodyguard, long list of experience. McCall is Mrs. Brooks' assistant. Brooks hired on Dial when McCall took up the position with Abby. They're a package deal as it were. Long time…partners."

Gibbs arched a brow when Toby said they were partners and looked closely at the screen. "Companion life partners?" He chuckled low. "You know the baby faced one…Tim…he has it bad for Abby. That was what motivated him getting pissed at me."

"And what about the other one? Think the feeling's shared? Must be some kinda girl to get all the males in the agency, and I imagine the females," he added, thinking of Ziva, "to rise up and protect her. Like a bunch of dogs." Snorting, Fornell looked up at his agent.

"Hell if I know. They look close," Gibbs said, motioning over to them. He gave Tobias an ironic smile, surprised that he was being quoted back. "You're probably violating a hell of a lot of rules and laws, Toby, but it is damned twisted." It was just like his friend to put the screws to NCIS like he was.

"They're gonna be angry. When're you gonna spill the beans?" Gibbs couldn't wait to see their expressions.

"Angry? Probably. Hopefully. But they were the ones who pounded in, bull in a china shop, into our active op. If I have to add them into this, I'm at least going to have some fun watching them squirm. And who cares if they're angry? They'll just have to grin and bare it, Jethro."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Fornell considered his options for the reveal. "Well, as long as these identities stand up to our hackers, then as soon as we're ready. I'm about done here."

"Baby Face…Tim is merging our histories, Toby. Let's not rush him. We can leave the dossiers with the directors and actually get the physical papers tomorrow with everything else that is being delivered. What do you have planned, paperwork wise? Passports, driver licenses, what else?"

Gibbs sat on the edge of the desk, trying to relax a little. It might take the younger man an hour or more to integrate a history. "You give McGee access to our files yet?"

"Baby Face," Tobias snorted before answering. "Yeah, I gave him access. Before you all joined us. The directors mentioned it'd be a good collaboration, so I sent him a message with instructions. And according to the email I got back, he's been accessing it."

Going back to the keyboard, Fornell started working again. "Gym memberships, book clubs, online chat rooms, rental agreements, the usual. Even managed to create a history of chat in an online art discussion group."

"Great." Gibbs knew that Toby knew this had to be airtight. "How about emails back and forth from us. Why'd we divorce anyway? Don't tell me either of us cheated." Like a character actor, he needed to get deeply into his role, that required the details lain out so that he could become Jet Brooks seamlessly again. Gibbs would be left in this squad room until the op was complete.

"Her career. She wanted to start to focus on it; her name was starting to be tossed around. Your job wouldn't allow for enough time together. So, she pulled away. Thinking you chose your career over her, so she was going to do the same. Irreconcilable differences," Fornell explained it short and brief.

Gibbs nodded, glad there wasn't any betrayal. "So why now? Why're we trying again right now?" He looked across the room at her. "How'd we meet, Toby? She's not Jet Brooks' usual type."

He swallowed hard, feeling a little uncomfortable. "This can work, Toby, right? We can sell this, can't we?"

"Of course we can, Jet. Don't get cold feet now." Considering his questions, he was slow to answer. "How'd you meet? How about at an art show? It'd be conceivable for Jet Brooks to attend an event like that. Especially if there are powerful people involved. And…you saw each other again at another art show. In fact, one where she was being featured. Eyes met across the room. Chemistry. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds damn good." He zoned out, imagining how they might have met, the chemistry between them. He knew he was smiling faintly, deep in thought as Toby worked the past history.

Tony drifted over toward the group after an hour or so. Abby and McGee were working on one terminal Fornell and Gibbs on another. Ziva hadn't come back and Tony knew she was working her contacts to find out anything they might have missed. He'd been reading Gibbs' file and making sure he knew everything he could about the agent and the man.

"How're things going, Agent Fornell? Are we almost done?"

Looking up from the computer, Fornell narrowed his eyes at the man heading up the NCIS team, Jet's new bodyguard. "Almost, just waiting for my guys back at the FBI to see if they can discover any holes in your new identities. After that, we should be all set."

"Okay. You looked over the work McGee and Abby have done? That all mesh with what you have here?" Tony leaned in close, knowing he had to make the peace. "Thanks for your help and cooperation here, Fornell."

Glancing at the other man in surprise, Fornell replied hesitantly, "Yeah, no problem. Just doing my job. But don't worry. Your forensics scientist will be as safe as anyone can possibly make her undercover. The rest will be up to you and Agent McGee, as well as Gibbs." Hearing a beep come from the computer, a smile lit up his face. "Looks like we're in the clear."

Standing up, he handed DiNozzo, McGee and Abby the folders of their new identities. "Abigail Brooks, aka Abby, wife of Jet Brooks, artist, specializing in the creative expression of the digital medium. Timothy McCall, assistant to Mrs. Brooks, life partner to AJ Dial, bodyguard to Mr. Brooks." Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for the fireworks to light.

"Life…" Tony's eyes widened and he looked at Fornell for a long moment, taking in the smirk and the folded arms. He was getting screwed and he made a mental note for Ziva to make Fornell's life a living hell. He wanted to yell and scream at the other man but doing so would probably screw up his career, mark him as a homophobe when he was anything but.

He opened his folder, looking at it. Education at Penn State, took the civil service exam and worked for a couple of years in border patrol, security officer with large and small firms, finally working with Mr. Brooks. And he and Timothy had been a couple for a good long time.

"Was that necessary?" he growled instead. "And how're you gonna explain me never being with Brooks before?"

McGee couldn't say a word as reality crashed over him. How could he have not guessed what Fornell was up to when he was running the background? And how was he supposed to be Tony's – AJ's – boyfriend? Who was supposed to be the man in the relationship? Groaning silently, he knew exactly who was who between the two of them; Tony would make sure of that.

Letting out a good, hearty laugh, Fornell took in the furious look on Tony's face and the pale look of dread on McGee's. Oh, this was going to be fun, he thought. "Necessary? Probably not. Enjoyable? Most definitely. As for how you came to be in Mr. Brooks employment…When McCall took up a job as Mrs. Brooks assistant, he recommended his partner's services as a bodyguard for her husband. And how could the Brooks' turn down such a wealth of experience?"

"And I wasn't with him tonight or any other place recently?" Tony said. "What'd I do, leave when the wife did?" He gestured to Abby. "To be with my partner?" Tim was even more shaken up than Tony was and he started running through movie scenarios to share with him. _I Now Pronounce you Chuck & Larry _would be a good starting point, even though they were only a couple and together for insurance benefits.

Jet watched, wincing inwardly. "Tobias," he warned quietly, playing good cop for the moment. "You did it, don't be a sore winner."

"Oh, I'm not, trust me, Jet. I could have handed out the dossiers in a more crowded environment." Fornell eyed Jet, curious. He seemed to be identifying more and more with the ragged lot of NCIS agents. And he wasn't sure if he liked his agent doing that. "As for where you've been, you were only recently hired on as Brooks' bodyguard. Tonight in fact. Abby didn't pick up her assistant until after she left Jet, after her art started gaining some recognition."

He looked apologetically to Abby who had made a little distressed sound at the mention of her leaving Jet. "I'm sorry, Abby, but it was the only way I could come up with to logically explain your divorce without using infidelity. From the little I've seen, that would have been worse for you." Despite his hard exterior, Fornell did try to be sensitive, especially around people like Abby Sciuto. He had no beef with her, though he might have a little one with her friends.

Abby walked up to Fornell and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks," she whispered before stepping back.

Gibbs angled his head, nodding, not liking this divide he could feel emerging between him and Toby. Regardless of how he felt about the situation, he was going undercover with three from NCIS. Tobias would be in his gilded cage and Gibbs would be the one getting down and dirty, his life on the line. He had to trust these people with his life and if they went into it with a perceived beef against the FBI, nothing good could come of it. They had to understand that he was different, he was a maverick and people like Toby and the director understood that. He wasn't a suit, never had been.

Then Toby completely redeemed himself by paying special attention to Abby. Gibbs knew he had to take control of things. "Everyone read through your histories. Familiarize yourself with them. When we leave this building, we become our identities. And you men need to come to terms with that, however you need to."

The cop was hardened, he was pissed but he'd fall in line, but Baby Face—Tim he mentally corrected—was looking green around the gills. "Can you each do this?"

Tony didn't like Gibbs taking control of the conversation, but he knew he had to calm down and approach this rationally, so he echoed Gibbs' motions, looking into the eyes of Abby and then McGee and finally the deep blue gaze of the man who had taken leadership. He nodded slowly, asserting that he could handle this.

Tim nodded slowly, taking his cue from Tony. For Abby and the success of the op, for proving that NCIS was a viable agency in her own right, he'd do his job, even feigning a relationship with Tony. It wouldn't be too bad, he thought. He could be involved with someone far less desirable.

_Timothy McGee_! He screamed to himself in his head. _What are you thinking?_ Tim knew his thoughts were on a dangerous path, so he concentrated on memorizing the details of his new history, finding it surprisingly parallel to his own life.

Gibbs walked closer to the younger man, looking him in the eye. "Tim, I need your word." He seemed the most shaken up by all of this. "Can you sell it? Can you believe it in your gut?"

Tony glanced over at Abby, trying to see how she was doing with all of this. This was the moment of truth. If Tim or Abby couldn't handle this, the op would be dead before it even started.

"Of course I can sell it. I'm not a green probie anymore," he growled, narrowing his eyes at the other man. Realizing that Gibbs only meant to keep everyone safe, Tim relaxed, standing straighter. "You have my word, Gibbs. You all do."

"Who said you're a probie?" Gibbs asked, mouth almost getting hung up on the word. He didn't know the status of NCIS agents or how long they'd worked with the agency, and he was a little concerned over the kid being touchy.

"Tim, my neck is on the line here so you can be damned sure I'm gonna check and make sure you're comfortable with this. I have to for the sake of my op."

"Sorry, that's Tony's word for me. He's called me that since I started working on Franks' team. You have my word, Gibbs. I will sell it. When I leave here, I leave McGee behind." He gulped at that, the realization of what was about to happen slamming onto him. He could do it; it was just a bit to take in so quickly.

"And become the life partner to that bozo," Gibbs muttered for the kid's ears only, hoping to establish a rapport.

"Yeah, well, each assignment's gotta have its drawbacks, right?" He laughed, suddenly feeling a connection with Gibbs. Gibbs understood what he was going through, and it helped Tim to have that connection.

That was good. Gibbs nodded, squeezing Tim's shoulder. "I'm not the enemy, Tim. I'm here as part of a team. Don't care what the agencies are, what letters we wear on our caps and windbreakers. We all need to trust each other to get us all out of this op intact."

"Right, trust. Goes both ways though, Gibbs. You have to trust me that I know what I'm doing, and that I'm damn good at what I do. True, my undercover experience is not as expansive as yours or even Tony's. But I have some, and I'm quick to learn. I won't be dropping the ball on this. Not for anything. Especially not for Abby."

"I would have vetoed the whole op if I didn't trust NCIS," Gibbs said, reserving judgment for the youngest agent until he saw him more. "Not worried you're dropping the ball. Have faith."

"I'll try. But this is all happening a little fast for my comfort level." Tim was a little more honest than he wanted to be, and he wasn't prepared for that admission to come out.

"We're all in the same boat," Gibbs said firmly, gently establishing the pecking order for the youngest agent. "But we have to find a way, Tim. Dig down, gather that strength, rely on your team and your leader." He sure as hell didn't mean the bozo, who had attacked Tobias instead of seeing to his man.

"I will. We will. And again, sorry about earlier." He held out his hand for the other agent to take, surprised that they had found some common ground. Tim was also a bit stunned how much respect he had for the man in front of him, especially considering exactly how long he'd known him, and in the circumstances they first met.

Gibbs extended his hand, clasping Tim's firmly. "No apology needed, Tim, None at all. It has been forgotten by me. Now, come on. Show Tony and Abby you're ready for this. We're a team of four, backed up by the others. But the four of us are in the trenches, the war. We're the front lines and we need to learn how to trust each other. Think we're making a good start. You?"

"Yeah, it's a good start. Will we be jumping off immediately into the scene? Or will there be a day or two to experience our new identities? It might help if we are seen around, especially you and Abby since you're supposed to be reconciling."

Gibbs motioned to his face. "Gonna have to stay close to the ground for a few days. Husband and reconciling wife would anyway. We'll ease in, Tim, maybe take her shopping when my bruises fade."

"Yeah, that would make sense. And letting people see you together, see us in our roles with you, will help add credence to our new histories. This will work, Gibbs. I know it will."

"It will," Gibbs agreed, reaching up to squeeze Tim's shoulder. "Glad to have you on my six, Tim. On my team."

"Hope you're happy, Fornell. Playing dick wars with our agencies is just gonna make you look like you have…" Tony paused, looking Fornell up and down. "Size insecurity."

"Who said anything about dick wars?" Snorting, he gave Tony his own look over. "I have no insecurity in that area, DiNozzo. You don't need to worry about that."

"Good to know you're not a half pint all over," Tony shot back, knowing he was taking a cheap shot. The FBI agents were ticking him off. Gibbs working with McGee when that was Tony's job, Fornell screwing with them. Abby not reacting enough for Tony to feel she was working in NCIS' best interest.

Walking up, Abby pulled on Tony's arm, taking him off to the side. "What's wrong with you, Tony? Why are you trying to pick a fight?"

Abby was jumping in here? Tony couldn't believe this. "He made McGee and me a couple, Abby. I'm not feeling real charitable right now!" Didn't she see how hinky this was?

"So? I think it's cute. You two would make an adorable couple." She couldn't help but tease him after everything that happened. Abby knew he was grumpy and probably a lot of that was from lack of food. "Would it help if we ordered a pizza?"

"I'm pissed. He just threw Tim even more off his game. This is a distraction we don't need and no, I don't need pizza. We need Mike spearheading this…but he left us." And that was a betrayal even if it wasn't in actuality.

"Tony, you need to take a deep breath and focus. You're going off on a rant is not going to help. Look," she said, pushing his face towards Tim and Jet. "Tim looks fine. He looks calm and stable, ready to get started. Even if he doesn't necessarily feel completely that way inside. You're the only one getting upset, Tony. We don't need Mike, not when we have you." Abby lowered her eyelashes to try to hide the pain she still felt over Mike. Mike had struck out at her, wounding her. And she didn't know how she'd move past that.

"What would Mike do?" Tony asked in almost a whisper. He shook his head slowly, trying to gather himself. "All right. Let's get out of here. Some sleep will make all of this a lot clearer."

~*~

Cynthia hadn't taken that special dinner out. Instead, she cancelled on Mell, got some takeout and returned to her desk. Good thing, as Director Morrow's wife called twice, finally saying that she was going to visit with friends in the Hamptons and that he could expect her home next weekend. She looked up as the outer door opened and the tall figure of the director strode in.

"Sir, can I get you anything?" she asked, abandoning her food for the moment.

"Cynthia? What are you doing here? I thought you were going out with Mallory. Plans get canceled?"

"Mellody, sir. And she had plans." Actually, she hadn't but she understood that Cyn wanted to stick around in case she was needed. "We'll make it up sometime, don't worry." She gave the director a small smile, automatically crossing into his inner sanctum and pouring him a Scotch, neat, just the way he liked it. The messages from his wife had been emailed to him and for the moment, Cyn could almost believe she didn't exist and she had a chance with the handsome older man.

"Thank you, Cynthia," he acknowledged with a smile. "What would I do without you?"

"Train another personal assistant," she teased lightly. "Whips and chains and…" My God, had she really said that? "Um…you'd manage until a new assistant fell into line. But I've been here for ages. Not planning on leaving or…anything."

Could she be any more awkward and idiotic, she wondered, feeling her face heat up.

"Like I would let you go," he answered, making it sound inevitable that she was there forever. Morrow's body heated up like the years beating down his frame didn't exist. But the thought of Cynthia with a whip, and he…he shook his head to clear that image, sure that Cynthia could tell exactly what he was thinking. Shifting his body to try and hide his growing erection, he could only pray his body wouldn't betray him further.

A deep pang of yearning ran through her when he said that, his already low voice deepening, his eyes staring at her intensely. She was standing next to him, her body heating despite herself. Her hand shook slightly as she handed him her drink. "I hope you never do," she said, her own intensity in her voice. Her eyes slid down his body and she wondered if she was imagining the way his pants were starting to tent.

Her breathing coming a little harder, her nipples tightening, she just looked up at him, staring into his eyes.

When her eyes drifted down his body, he felt himself harden further. Before he could stop, Morrow felt himself reach for her and froze. He couldn't do this, not to her. He couldn't start something with Cynthia with his wife waiting at home. It wouldn't be fair.

"Cynthia, I…I…I will see you in the morning." And before he could do anything more damning, he turned and returned to his office, only releasing his pent-up breath when the door closed behind him. Downing his drink, he moved to his desk, slamming the glass on the shined wooden surface. Lowering his head, he grasped the edge of the desk, hoping to stop himself from going back to her.

He had been ready to touch her, she was certain of it. Whatever had stopped him, he was clearly struggling. She went back to her desk, considering leaving, but then she heard him slam the glass down on a hard surface and she activated the intercom.

"She's gone away, to the Hamptons for the next week and a half," she said in a low voice, wanting to add that his wife was probably with the tennis pro Cynthia had been quietly paying off so that he wouldn't go to the press. She protected the director at all costs, even from his wife's prescription drug pushers and boy toys who expected compensation. When necessary, she'd approach the FBI for their help, hopefully without involving the director.

"It is broken and you need someone. There is no failure in needing someone strong enough to share your burdens." She let him chew on that for a minute.

"You know where I am. I am not leaving right now." She truly had no idea if he was as interested as her, if this was a brief flare of interest or if there was more behind it. "I am here," she finished in little more than a whisper.

Morrow stared at the phone with its red blinking light showing the intercom was activated, wondering what he should do. He was being ripped in two as she spoke: need for the comfort Cynthia was offering warring with the side of him that was loyal to a woman who no longer cared how she hurt him.

"And it's not fair to ask you to help me shoulder my burdens, Cynthia. They are mine to carry."

"I have been carrying them for longer than you know," she replied, her voice shaking. "I have been carrying more than you can ever imagine, not only for this job but for the man I work for. A man I care about…" Because I love you, she added silently.

She stared at the intercom for long moments, listening to his breathing. He was so damned noble. Making a decision that could drive her to a career at Wal-Mart, she stood, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt and exposing slight cleavage. She moved to the outer door of the offices, locking it, and then silently opened the door to his own office.

"When do you get someone to cater to your needs?" she asked quietly. She crossed the room, grabbing his empty glass and pouring it full of the high end Scotch he loved, placing it within reach of his fingers but not daring to touch him. Yet.

Out of habit, he took the offered drink from her. When his fingers went around the cool glass, his fingers curled around hers. "Cynthia…I don't deserve that. I am…content with the state of my life. I can't ask for more. You are young, full of life. You should be out in the world, living, not stuck your entire life behind a desk for an old man that doesn't know how to put his…loved ones ahead of his job."

She looked him in the eyes, reading the truth, the doubts. And she knew she had to pull back, for both of them for their sanity. "You deserve so much more," she told him quietly. "You know where I am….and how I feel." She looked at him for one more long moment, toying with a button on her shirt, wondering if she had changed things irrevocably.

"Take care of yourself, sir. Make sure you get some sleep. As soon as I'm done with my meal, I'll head for home…but my phone will be on and I have no plans." Beyond tossing and turning. "So call me if you need anything."

She escaped back to her desk, wrote up the phone message, and slipped back into his office. "This came in while you were meeting with the others," she told him, placing it on his desk, unwilling to look into his eyes.

Seeing her embarrassed expression, Tom flinched at how he had unwittingly hurt her. "Cynthia…I…" Giving up a battle in the span of a war wouldn't tip the scales in either way, but he couldn't resist her, not when such a normally confident woman looked so vulnerable.

"Oh, hell," he growled before pulling her into a kiss. He knew he was starting something he couldn't finish, at least not yet. Not until he had figured out what was going on in his marriage. But for now, he would take what she was offering, finally getting to explore the lips that had kept him up at night.

She gasped when he kissed her. It was completely unexpected and she stiffened before relaxing, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, her mouth opening under his. She moaned her approval, tightening her arms around him and dragging her hands up and down his back before she pulled back, staring into his eyes.

"I understand..." She rested her hand on his cheek. "Get through what you need to, I'm not going anywhere at all." She wanted him, but she wanted him wholly rather than conflicted. But if he was sure…if he wasn't conflicted…she would be his.

He leaned into her touch, needing to draw from her the strength to walk away. It would be so easy to just give in, to just close his mind to the consequences and only feel, to be in the moment. But he wouldn't cheapen it. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. Closing his eyes, he took in the moment, took in the feel of Cynthia so close, though she was still so far.

Kissing her forehead, where his own head had just rested, he whispered, "I'm sorry," before turning away.

"I'm not," she said in stark honesty, resting her hand on his back before she reached down to squeeze his hand. "I am here. Whatever you need, no strings attached," she told him, her voice shaking slightly.

She hesitated a moment before she walked into the outer office, packing up the remainder of her food, gathering her more dressy work clothes that she had changed out of when she'd been planning to go to dinner with Mellody, and shut down her computer, trying to still her breathing. The kiss had been incredible, intense. Passionate. It wasn't the end. It couldn't be.

When he heard her shut his inner door, Morrow whispered, "But what if I want it to have strings? What if what I want is more than just a fling?" Sighing, he pushed himself away from the front of his desk, moving to sit in his chair, preparing for the night ahead for his agency.

She lingered for a moment, watching the door, half torn, half hoping he'd open the door, that she hadn't imagined it. But her lips tingled, tasted faintly of Scotch and the man behind those doors. She pulled in a breath, said a silent goodnight, set her shoulders and left, knowing she was leaving a little part of her heart back in that room.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It was very late when Jet settled into a sedan alongside Abby. The two agents would be up front and would arrange for the concierge at the hotel to collect his car from the event. The hotel where he and Abby would finally get to be alone…sort of. He'd been living there alone for so long that it had become home of a sort.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the leather headrest, glad that car seemed to be one step up from the government sedans he was used to when he wasn't undercover. His hand reached for hers without him making a conscious decision, fingers curling around hers.

"C'mere," he whispered, motioning to his shoulder. He wanted her to snuggle close.

Giving him a tired smile, Abby slid over the seat, nestling her body against his. She pressed her face into his neck, molding her body to his. "I've been waiting for this all night," she breathed against his pulse.

Curling her legs onto his lap, she brushed her hand across his chest. It felt so natural to be with him, to find her body fitting into his so easily.

He closed his eyes, the lulling ride of the car and the scent and feel of her body calming him. Her fingers stroked over his chest and he made a small contented sound. "Just wait 'til we get home, Inky. Then you'll get what you've been waiting for."

"What we've been waiting for," she corrected. Rubbing her face into his neck, she settled in closer. "And I'll be holding you to the promises you've made, Fox."

He breathed in her scent, laughing in a low tone, his arms wrapping her even more tightly. "The suite isn't too small. I hope the boys don't mind it if you get loud."

"Is that a threat, Fox? You making plans to have me scream?" Her body shivered in anticipation. She'd already had a taste of what they were like together. In fact, she would probably never be able to go into her ballistics lab again without blushing. And those memories even now were heating up her body as she lay in his arms.

"A promise, Inky. You're gonna scream. You almost did in your lab and that was only a taste of what I'm gonna do to you." He palmed one of her breasts, working the nipple, the idea that the men were only a short distance away in the front seat actually turning him on. His other hand began wandering up her leg, stroking the exposed part of her lower thigh.

Her breath caught in her chest, her entire being focused on where his hands were and what they were doing. Concentration faltering as his one hand crept slowly up her leg, Abby stammered out, "Promise….right. Gonna scream. God, Jet. The guys are in the front." But the thrill of being caught was driving her even higher. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down as she fought the moan that threatened to escape.

"I see them," he said mildly, his hand parting her legs and stroking her slowly. "They're in the front seat right there a few feet away from us." He winked and gave her his most naughty look. "And?"

Gasping, she let her legs fall apart, moving with his hand. "And they're right there. Tim could turn around. AJ can see us in the rearview mirror." Moving her lips to his neck, she started to suck and nip up the side. She stopped below his ear and whispered, "If you stop now, I'll kill you myself." Unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, she reached inside, fingernails scraping at each of his nipples.

He choked out a small sound before he breathed deeply and evenly, moving his fingers against her skin, flicking her bud. "Come for me," he whispered in her ear. "Silently. With them right there."

He didn't think she could, but he was up for the challenge. And the way she was stroking over his chest was lodging desire deep in his gut, stiffening his cock.

Biting onto his neck, she started whimpering in the back of her throat, small, quiet sounds that only hinted at the smoking passion raging inside of her body. She was an inferno in the back of the car. But with two of her best friends in the front, her inferno raged silently.

Suddenly, her body broke apart as her climax overtook her. She hadn't thought she'd be that primed. But she was wrong. Really wrong. Clamping down on his hand, she squeezed her eyes shut hard as her body shook.

"That's my beautiful girl," he whispered almost soundlessly, continuing to stroke her, but more slowly as he eased her back down. "That's my wonderfully responsive girl." He was aching but he wanted to give her proper sex, and there was no way he'd be ready for more than one more round tonight.

He withdrew, tapping his fingertip against her lower lip. "Taste."

Her tongue flicked out to taste his moistened finger, her eyes locking with his. Sucking the digit into her mouth, she tasted the unique flavor of herself, her body still vibrating with the need and spent climax he had wrung from her body.

He gave her a smile and nodded, brushing her hair back. "Tastes great, doesn't it? That's your flavor imprinted in my soul."

Releasing his finger, she blushed a bit, a little shy at their level of intimacy, guests or no. "Personally, I think you taste better," she teased. To prove her point, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, needing to feel him against her in any way she could. And knowing he could taste her essence on her tongue sent another tremor of desire straight to her core.

He kissed her slowly, cupping her neck, stroking her face, a slow, lazy exploration of her mouth. He'd taken the edge of her passion for now and he wanted her pliant and relaxed in his arms.

~*~

"You okay, McGee?" Tony asked in a low voice. It had been a hell of a night.

Pausing in his work programming their new cell phones, he looked over to Tony. "Okay? Yeah, I'm okay. Overwhelmed. Stressed. But okay. You?"

Tony drummed his hands on the steering wheel. They had to take the long way back, making a couple of stops in case anyone was following. Probie was dealing with the cells and Tony was driving and looking out for anyone who might see them. It'd be a forty minute ride to the hotel, instead of ten, but they had to be safe.

"Yeah….I'm okay, Tim." They had travel backpacks with them with their tuxes. The rest would be delivered later. Tony had scored a designer wardrobe, McGee a little more casual attire. The bastard Fornell had actually smiled when he'd handed them their cover identities. Tony was now AJ Dial, and Tim was his long-time companion and lover Timothy McCall. They were a package deal, in all ways. Tim hadn't reacted much, but Tony wondered if it bothered him.

"Okay. Good." And he was okay. And completely, utterly thrown for a loop, anxious, concerned. His thesaurus of a brain was listing words for what he was feeling, skipping completely over "hot and bothered." Fornell thought he'd get some cheap thrill over pairing Tony and him—AJ, he corrected—as lovers, and Tim was trying desperately to stop his brain from thinking too much about it. Because if he kept up his overthinking, he was afraid that he'd realized being linked up with Tony like that wasn't really such a bad and awkward thing.

Tim hoped the thrill had been short lived. It had taken everything in him to not react, to not blush or stutter or any other probie-type reaction. Instead, he'd taken his identity and went on with his assignment. And now, he was the supposed lover of his partner. Great, Tony was never going to let him live this down.

"Did good in there, Tim," Tony said, meaning all of it, the identities, the way he'd reacted to their new…realities, and not given Fornell a damn bit of satisfaction. Fornell had thought he was screwing them and had looked disappointed by the lack of Tim's reaction.

"Not the enemy. We'll be okay." Tony reached over, patting McGee on the knee. He realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away, clenching the wheel.

"iPhones, huh? Latest generation? Pretty cool."

"Of course. If we're going undercover, we might as well have cool toys to play with. I mean…" Tim stuttered to a stop when Tony's hand came down on his leg. Sucking in a breath, he cursed Fornell for putting the two of them into this situation. Life partners? Companions?

Tim was tense, stressed, but Tony didn't know how to get through to him, so he just stifled a sigh, hands clenching on the steering wheel. "Get me some good games for it, Tim. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. What kind? First player shooting? Card? Casino?" Tim was grateful for the safe topic, focusing on the phones instead of the tension.

"All of the above. And some driving games. Think they have a Guitar Hero for this?" Tony paused, aware of the tension and the silence in the back seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror for only a second, looking away quickly and grunting. They weren't making out in the backseat like teenagers…Tony glanced back again. Oh yeah, they were.

"Dammit," he muttered, wanting to close his eyes. This wasn't doing a damn thing for the tension in the car. Tony jerked the wheel, taking a curve fast in an evasive measure that wasn't needed. One of the phones fell into his lap and he clamped his thighs around it, stifling his sigh.

"What?" Tim yelped out as the car swerved. Without thinking, he went after the phone, his hand diving in between Tony's legs. As he closed his hand around the phone, his fingers brushed along the length of Tony's half hardened cock. Freezing with his hand still around the phone, still in between Tony's legs, still touching the other man's hard-on, Tim didn't know what to do.

Tony couldn't believe what was happening. Everything was so out of control. As he pulled up to a red light, he moved Tim's hand, not daring to look over at him, knowing Tim could tell that he'd been getting stimulated by the backseat action.

"Enough!" Tony said, voice echoing loudly in the car. "Wait until we're back at the damn hotel to paw each other or I'm dropping you two off here and you can walk back."

Tim flinched as Tony's voice rang through the car. "S…sorry, Tony. Just trying to get back the phone," he explained, lamely brandishing the phone as proof.

Abby squeaked and jumped away from Jet, squeezing her legs together as her body threatened to ignore Tony and jump on Jet again.

Oh God, did Tim think… Tony flushed darkly. "You're fine, Probie," he said before he'd worked out what he wanted to communicate, not sure what he was implying there.

Tony looked into the back seat, twisting fully around, speaking in a low, angry, commanding voice. "Am I understood, Special Agents Gibbs, Sciuto?"

Gibbs arched a brow, nodding, respecting the way the other guy exuded leadership all of a sudden. "Keep driving, Mr. Dial. We have somewhere to be."

Scooting back into Jet's arms, she gave a defiant look to Tony. He never called her "Sciuto" before. It had always been Abby or Abbs. Something must have him off if he was that grumpy, she thought. He was starting to sound like Franks. Snuggling in close, she called out. "How much farther, AJ?"

"Ten minutes," he barked back, giving Abby a furious look. Turning his attention to McGee, Tony glanced his way. "Phone okay, Tim?" He wanted to ask if they were okay too, but that would establish way more than he wanted to, especially where Tim's hand had been hanging out.

"Ye…yeah. Phone's fine. These things are actually much more durable than they look." Keeping his eyes on the phone, he risked a peek at Tony. But the other man's face was impassive, his expressions not showing any of the tension Tim was feeling. From the back of the car, he heard the two moving around and wished they would get over the need to paw at each other like two overgrown teenagers.

Sticking her tongue out at Tony, Abby winked at him in the mirror. "Thanks AJ!" she responded, overly cheerful.

Tony tried not to chuckle, keeping his face expressionless. "Durable," he echoed with a nod. He swallowed hard, sighing and concentrating on the road and not whatever was happening in the car.

"You're toast, Abby," he muttered. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

Thank you so much for coming on this ride with us! As you're probably aware, this is only the beginning. The Fox & Ink Undercover series will be continuing with Jet and Abby's explosive night together in Underneath it All. We also have Come Together completed, which is a companion story set the same night. And the overall story will continue in Storm & Shelter.

Look for Underneath it All and Come Together to be posted simultaneously starting in January!

We really appreciate all the support and feedback you've given us! Thanks for trying our work! And thank you so much to Anna for beta reading this monster. Her edits and suggestions helped us so much!

If you've enjoyed this story and would like a hard copy of it, stay tuned. Agent With Style will be bringing Sapphires & Emeralds out in print version in the not-so-distant future.

TG and Zabby


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